Rodger and Eleanor
by manxcatmom
Summary: Guy and Meg's son Rodger and Robin and Marian's daughter Eleanor have played together as friends, and fought with each other, for as long as they can remember. But as they grow up, and as changes come to their lives and family, will their feelings for each other change as well? Or will it be Guy and Marian all over again? The sequel to my S3 AU "A Friend Closer Than a Brother".
1. Chapter 1 The Children

**Summary: **Guy and Meg's son Rodger, and Robin and Marian's daughter Eleanor, have played together, but more often fought with each other, for as long as they can remember. But what will happen when they start to grow up? As their lives and the lives of their family members change, will they still clash? Or will their feelings for each other change as well? This is a"next generation" AU sequel to my Season 3 re-write, "A Friend Closer Than a Brother", and the follow-up story, "First Comes Love, Then Comes Marriage, Then Comes?", but will include plenty about the familiar and beloved characters from the series.

**Characters: **Rodger (Guy and Meg's son), Eleanor (Robin and Marian's daughter), Guy of Gisborne, Robin of Locksley, Lady Marian, Lady Meg, some of the old gang (Allan, Little John, Archer), and several OCs. 

**Author's Note:** As in my previous two stories, and in keeping with the playful spirit of the TV show, I take liberties with history, and there will no doubt be anachronisms. It's all in fun, dear readers! This story is mostly fantasy, and is not intended to be an accurate reflection of medieval times, customs, or historical facts. As always, comments and criticisms are welcome. This is a work in progress, so I ask for your patience with updates! 

**Disclaimer:** I do not own BBC, or BBC's "Robin Hood", or any of the characters (except the ones I created). I will receive no profit from the writing and publishing of this work of fiction, only the pleasure of sharing it with fellow fans. 

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**CHAPTER ONE**

**THE CHILDREN**

"I dare you, Rodger."

"Shut up, Eleanor!"

"I dare you. What's the matter, Mama's boy, too scared? Mama's little baby, little baby, little cry-baby!"

"I am not! Stop calling me that! And I'm not scared, either!"

"Then how come you won't touch it?"

"'Cause my father said not to."

"Your papa's not here, is he?"

"Doesn't matter. He said not to touch it, and I'm not going to. He promised me a new pony if I'm good. You're just trying to get me in trouble again so I won't get a pony, so shut up!"

"New pony? Huh! You're just scared, is all. You'll never get a new pony, anyway. You'll be riding that fat little pony of yours until your feet drag on the ground."

Rodger of Gisborne looked up at his tormentor with his fists clenched and a deep scowl on his face. Eleanor of Locksley. Eleanor the Brat. They had played together, and fought with each other, for as long as he could remember.

Today she had come barging into his house, uninvited, to boast about her new bow and to tell him she could now dead-center the target from thirty paces. Showoff! Likely it wasn't more than ten. And he had a bow, too. True, it wasn't as nice as hers, but he'd get a new one soon. And it would be a grown-up bow, like the Saracen bow Uncle Robin used, not a baby one. Then he'd practice, ten hours every day, until he was just as good a shot as her. No, better than her, a lot better! That would stop her bragging!

She stepped closer to him. She was a year older than him, and taller by half a head. He hated that.

"I'm older than you," she taunted. "I'm older, and bigger, and a whole lot smarter than a baby like you."

"No, you're not!"

"Yes, I am," she replied with a self-satisfied smile, as she reached out to ruffle his head of thick, dark curls. He hated that more than anything. Mother always played with his curls, too, but that was different. Mother didn't make fun of his curls the way Eleanor did. He struck Eleanor's hand away, but she only laughed.

"You've got little girl curls," she teased. "And long lashes. You're a pretty little girl, and you're a scared Mama's baby."

Why, oh, why had Father told him it was wrong to hit a girl? If she was a boy, well! He would wallop her good, and wipe that smug smile off her face! She deserved it! Mama's baby, indeed! He'd show her he was no baby!

He pulled a chair away from the table and pushed it up close to the fireplace. He hoisted his sturdy body onto the chair, and gripped the mantelpiece. He could just reach it. Father's sword, hanging tantalizingly above his head.

'_Don't touch that, ever,'_ Father had told him. '_You are not to go near it, do you understand me?'_

'_Yes, Father.'_

Yes, he understood. But Father didn't always understand. This time was different. Father didn't have Eleanor's mocking face looking up at him, daring him, laughing at him. Some things could not be endured, not when one was fully eight years old—almost grown up, and certainly not a baby. And what harm would touching it do, anyway? None. He'd just touch it once, and Father would never know.

He turned over his shoulder to glance down at Eleanor. Her luminous green eyes shone with gleeful anticipation. He snorted and looked away, up at the sword. It rested against the fireplace chimney on two large hooks. He had seen Father take his sword down to polish it, and he had watched his father and Uncle Robin engage in mock swordfights. He loved to watch them. His father was so strong and quick that Uncle Robin could never beat him. He could beat Father at targets with his bow, but never with his sword. Rodger longed more than anything to learn how to fight like his father, but Father said he was too little.

'_Some day, when you're older, I'll teach you, but not now. And you are never to touch this until you're ready.'_

Well, he was old enough now. And more than ready. Eleanor had a brand new bow, and her father was teaching her how to shoot. And she was only nine, only a year older than him. And a girl, too. It wasn't fair!

"Go on," she whispered. "I dare you!"

Shoving his father's warning words aside, Rodger reached up and briefly touched the cold metal blade.

"There!" he shouted, his face aglow with triumph as he turned to look down at her. "Take it back, Eleanor! I'm no baby!"

But with practiced ease she snatched his victory from him.

"So? That's nothing. So you touched it. Big deal. Let's see you take it down."

"You know I can't!"

"Too scared, little girl? Afraid of that little toy sword?"

"It's not a toy, stupid!"

She laughed with inexpressible scorn. "You are such a baby."

He bristled at her words. Why did he let her get under his skin like that? It wasn't like she was the only person who ever teased him. And she was just a girl! But she had called him a baby, and worse, she had said that he was afraid.

'_Don't ever be afraid to do the right thing, no matter what it costs you,'_ his father had told him many a time. '_Only cowards give in to fear and do what they know is wrong.'_

But this _couldn't_ be the wrong thing to do! Eleanor was calling _him_ a coward! Surely Father would understand that some things were too much to be borne. A man had to defend his name and honour! Father would not want a _coward_ for a son!

He jumped down off the chair.

"What are you doing?" asked Eleanor.

He ignored her and went to the front door, opened it, and looked both ways. Then he peered out of the dining room windows. Good, no one around. He took a deep, shaky breath, and climbed back on the chair. His stubborn face was flushed with humiliation and his dark brows were drawn over his eyes, icy blue and glittering as a winter sky. He'd show her, and no one would be the wiser. He'd take the sword down and put it back up in no time at all, and Father wouldn't know he had disobeyed. He'd keep his honour, and Eleanor would have no reason to taunt him anymore.

But there were obstacles in the way, in the form of two vases perched on the mantle on either side of the sword. Mother's vases, which Father had brought home for her all the way from London as a wedding anniversary gift. Two lovely, delicately painted, and very breakable vases that Mother treasured and always kept filled with flowers in the summer.

She had told him a hundred times never to touch those vases, and he never had. But now he had no choice but to touch them as he moved them to one side very carefully. A few flowers spilled out and onto the mantle. He stuck them back in, then reached up and grasped the hilt of the forbidden sword.

How he longed to hold it in his hands, to lunge and thrust and parry as Father did! But it was heavy, so heavy. How did Father swing that sword so effortlessly? Well, no matter, he would have it down, heavy and awkward though it was, and shut Eleanor's mouth once and for all.

He lifted the sword's hilt, but it was caught on the hook it rested on. He stood on tiptoe, and tried to jostle it loose. Almost there—

He suddenly lost his balance, and the chair tipped backward. Frantically he grabbed for the mantelpiece with one hand, while the other still grasped the sword hilt, but he could not hold on. His flailing hands tipped over Mother's vases. He dropped to the stone hearth along with them, and lay, breathless, among the shards of broken pottery and crushed flowers.

The sword, still attached to the wall by one hook, swung precariously over his head. He scrambled out of the way, just in time, as it came loose and fell, shattering the vases into even smaller pieces as it flipped over the edge of the mantle and landed on the hearth with a loud clatter of metal against stone.

Eleanor rolled on the floor and hugged her sides, helpless with laughter. Rodger sat up slowly among the broken ruins. Mother's beautiful vases, and the flowers from the garden that she cultivated with such care. Tears filled his eyes. He was sore and bruised and shamed, and now in deep trouble. The sword he could put back up, if he were lucky, before anyone saw him, but the vases…. There was no way to wriggle out of that one. They were smashed beyond repair. Mother would be so hurt. And Eleanor, she'd tell on him for sure. It was all her fault! If she hadn't made fun of him—

He wiped the tears hastily from his eyes, and choked back his sobs. Never would Eleanor, that brat, see him cry. Never!

He jumped to his feet, pulled the chair upright, and reached for the sword to put it back up, but the front door of the house opened at that dreadful moment, and in walked Father.

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Rodger looked up into his father's face, and wished the earth would swallow him. But it didn't, and his worst fears were soon realized, as Eleanor ran to Father and pointed an accusing finger back at him.

"I didn't do it, Uncle Guy!" she cried. "It was Rodger, he tried to take down your sword!"

His father stood still for a long, silent moment as he took in the scene. Then, wordlessly, he crossed the room. Rodger stood before his father, but couldn't meet his eyes. He felt his father's strong hands clench down painfully on his drooping shoulders.

"Well? What have you to say?"

The deep voice sounded over Rodger's head, sending a chill through him. He didn't answer. What was there to say? That he had disobeyed his father's clear orders because a stupid girl had teased him and called him names? How foolish it all seemed now!

"Did I, or did I not, tell you never to touch that sword? Answer me, boy!"

"Yes, Father," Rodger murmured.

"But you did, and now look what you've done."

He didn't want to look again. He didn't have to look. The evidence was all over the floor.

A knock on the front door broke the tense silence that followed.

"Come in!"

The door opened. It was Aunt Marian. At any other time Rodger would have been glad to see her, as he loved his aunt and uncle dearly, even if they were Eleanor's parents.

"Guy," she was saying to Father, "Excuse me, I thought Eleanor might be here. Robin wants her home for her archery lesson—oh!"

Marian took in the mess on the floor, Guy's shamefaced little son, and her daughter, standing to one side with a grin that was part mischief, part feigned innocence.

_Just like Robin, _she thought. _I know that smile all too well. She's her father's_ _child, every inch of her. What has she done this time?_

"Guy, I'm sorry—I came at a bad time?"

"Just a bit of trouble with a son who doesn't listen," answered Guy gruffly.

"I hope my daughter wasn't part of the problem," began Marian, as she took Eleanor's hand.

"No," said Guy. "But Rodger and I are going to have a little talk."

A little talk. Rodger knew what that meant. A stern and one-sided lecture from Father, followed by the sharp sting of his thick leather belt. Hot rebellion surged up in his breast. He squirmed about, trying to free himself from his father's iron grip.

"It's not fair!" he cried. "Eleanor, she dared me! She made me do it!"

"Eleanor, is that true?" Marian demanded. "Look at me. Did you tease him?"

"Mama, it was Rodger's idea! I tried to stop him—"

"You're a liar!" Rodger shouted, infuriated by the injustice of her double falsehood. "Father, she's lying!"

But Father's hand tightened inexorably on his arm.

"I don't care who did what," he replied in a tone that brooked no opposition. "The truth is that you disobeyed me."

"Guy," interjected Marian, her heart softening at the sight of the boy's anguished face, "Eleanor probably was teasing him. Don't be too angry with him. I'm sure he didn't mean it."

"No, Marian. My son has to learn that when I tell him not to do something, that's what I mean, and I expect to be obeyed. We're going to have a talk, and then he's going to come down here and clean up every bit of this mess."

_He's not one of your guards, he's your son!_ thought Marian, as she watched Guy lead the struggling child toward the stairs. She sighed and shook her head.

_Guy. It's always unquestioning obedience with him. Obedience, duty, __loyalty. Some things never change, even with his own flesh and blood. _

_But it's not my place to interfere. Guy is master in his own house. And Rodger has his mother to comfort him and dry his tears. She would never let Guy go too far with their child, I know. Dear, sweet Meg. Guy loves her so much…._

She turned back to Eleanor. She wasn't convinced that the little maid was quite as innocent as she made herself out to be, especially when she heard the barely suppressed giggle that issued from her daughter as she watched Guy hoist the unfortunate Rodger over his broad shoulder and ascend the stairs.

Rodger looked down at Eleanor from the vantage point of his father's height, down at her impudent grin, her obvious delight at the knowledge of his coming punishment, and his face twisted into an expression of fierce rage. He hated her, oh, how he hated her!

"I hate you!" he screamed at her. "You'll pay, Eleanor! You'll be sorry for this!"

In response the little minx bestowed upon her victim her widest and most wicked smile, tossed back her long dark braids, and stuck her tongue out at him.

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Marian, who had not seen her daughter's antics, but suspected as much, led Eleanor to the door.

_Robin spoils her, that's the problem. She's the apple of his eye, and has been since the day she was born. 'My father never struck me', Robin told me, 'and I'll never spank my daughter, either.' Fine words, which I wholeheartedly agreed to at the time, but sometimes I wonder if a good spanking isn't what she needs. _

"Come, time to leave."

"But Mama!" protested Eleanor, who was hoping to linger long enough to hear something of the coming action from upstairs.

"Don't think you've gotten away with anything, young lady! Yes, I know you had something to do with this. You've told more than your share of fibs, and I believe you're telling me one now. No archery lesson today. You are to stay in the house for the rest of the day."

"No! Papa promised I could—"

_House arrest for the day,_ thought Marian. _No archery lesson. Still not enough for something as naughty as this. What punishment would suit? _She smiled to herself. _I have just the thing._

"You are to stay inside, and work on your embroidery for the rest of the day."

"Mama, n-n-nooooo!"


	2. Chapter 2 Overheard At The Trip Inn

**OVERHEARD AT THE TRIP INN**

"The most damned peculiar thing I've ever seen, lads, and I've seen some peculiar things in me time," said Hugh, the Locksley village smith, with a broad smile and a shake of his head.

He settled his massive frame back in his chair and looked around at his cronies, bellied up to a corner table in the Trip Inn in Nottingham. They were washing down a large meat pie with pints of ale held in gravy-smeared fingers. The warm golden light of a summer afternoon streamed through the dusty windows that looked out onto the main thoroughfare of the town.

"Robin of Locksley, and Guy of Gisborne, is what I mean," he continued as he bit off another chunk of pie. "I seen them both in the market today. Talkin' and jokin' together like they was the best of friends. Huh! And to think, not so long ago our Lord of Locksley Manor was Robin Hood, an outlaw livin' in Sherwood Forest, and Gisborne huntin' him like a wolf after a deer, with the Sheriff's blessing. Fightin' over Lady Marian, too, if what I heard is true. Near to killin' each other over her. But look at them now. Livin' side by side in Locksley village. And after all of what Gisborne's done, and the devil of a Sheriff he worked for."

"Aye, they've made their peace with each other, God alone knows how," added Brian, a cooper from Clun, with a shrug. "They've been friends ever since Lady Isabella was Sheriff. You remember? Robin rescued Gisborne right out from under her axe. I was there and seen it meself."

"How many years has it been? Ten, eleven, since Vaisey's death in the siege?" asked Reginald, also from Locksley.

"Let's see….aye, you're right. That was back in 'ninety-five. I know, 'cause my son Matthew was born that same year," said Hugh's equally substantial younger brother Willie.

"Well, he's gone for good, praise be to heaven, and we all sleep easier at night now. But, Gisborne and Locksley! I guess you never get over bein' surprised till you're dead and buried, that's what," grunted Hugh.

"You hear about the new mill they're fixin' to build in Locksley?" said Reginald.

"New mill? What's wrong with the old one?" asked Brian.

"Well, harvest has been so good the last few years, we need a bigger one. Miller's got more work than he can handle. And here's the funny bit, lads. Word has it that Sir Guy is payin' half the cost himself."

"That does beat all," said Hugh in a tone of astonishment, but in which was mixed more than a touch of sarcasm. "High and mighty Sir Guy givin' out some of his money to us poor lowly peasants, is he? My, isn't that generous of him!"

"Well, God knows we've earned it, after what we've all been put through with that old Sheriff, and Gisborne doin' his dirty work for him," said Brian. "Now Robin, he's a good fellow. He and his gang was always bringin' us food, and takin' the money Vaisey stole from us and givin' it back to us. But Gisborne—I figure he's only givin' back what he should. He worked for the Sheriff all those years. He owes us. And you know them rich nobles don't part with their gold willingly."

"True enough. So we'll count our blessings, eh, lads?" grinned Willie.

"Aw, be fair, now, Brian," countered Reginald. "Gisborne's got his better side, too. I work for him, you remember, so I know. He's been right kind to us in Locksley since he got his lands and title back from King Richard, may God rest his soul. And look at the sweet little lass who married him. He must have some good in him."

"Good? In him? That's just women for you, Reggie. Always wantin' to change a man. Think they can take a man like Gisborne and make him over into a hallowed saint," scoffed Brian.

The men chuckled over the odd notions of womankind, quite forgetting how their own wives had diligently pruned away some of their rough ways, and reworked many of the careless habits of their youth into a semblance of respectability.

"All the same, that Lady Meg's a good woman," said Reginald. "She's got that husband of hers wrapped right 'round her little finger, I tell you, and she just a little mite of a thing next to him. I seen it meself. And so's my wife. You know she works in Gisborne Hall, cleans and cooks and looks after the children and such. She's been with the family since she was a young lass. Well, my Anna, the stories she tells! Everyone runs for cover, she tells me, when Gisborne raises the rafters with his shoutin'. All except his wife. Lady Meg tells him to shut his mouth and behave himself, and the high and mighty Sir Guy, as you call him, does it! Shuts right up!"

"Then she's the best thing that ever happened to him, that's all I can say," remarked Hugh. "Far too good for the likes of him, if you ask me. And she's given him those fine sons and all, and another little one on the way, or so my Bess tells me."

"That eldest one, Rodger—if he isn't the very image of his father. Old Tom swears the boy looks just like Gisborne as a child," said Willie.

"Let's just hope he doesn't turn out like him," muttered Brian with a grimace.

"Oh, I don't think it likely," said Reginald. "He's a good little lad. Quiet, you know, but real polite. Between me and Allan a Dale, we're teachin' him to ride. His papa's got him a new pony. The one he was ridin' was a bit small for him. He helped me last week stack up a load of wood to take to market, and never stopped talkin' about his new pony. And he worked steady with me all afternoon, with never a complaint. I'll say one thing for Gisborne—he doesn't spoil his sons."

"No, he makes them work. Even Richard has his chores to do, Anna tells me, and him only five. Neither him nor Rodger will be lazy and spoiled lord's sons, not if their father has anything to do with it. And their mama will raise them right. If she can manage her husband, she can manage her sons."

"He's damned lucky to be alive to have children at all. We all thought King Richard would have his head for sure. And then King John, too, wantin' his revenge."

"I tell you, when I saw them soldiers of the king's show up in Locksley that day, and Gisborne and Robin led off in chains, I never expected to see either one of them alive again," said Reginald.

"How'd they get off, anyway?" asked Brian.

"I heard there was a pact that King Richard forced his brother to sign before his death. Prince John was made to promise not to harm either man."

"I don't expect that set too well with our beloved monarch, did it?"

"Hell, no," snickered Hugh. "I'm sure it stuck in his craw. He'd like to have both their heads on a pike even now. But by the looks of things even he couldn't find a way 'round the pact he'd signed. He made them sit in prison just the same, half-starving them for four months, but in the end he had to let them go. All the better. I'd sure hate to have lost our Robin. Or Gisborne. You can laugh if you want, Brian, but give the devil his due, as they say. He's a changed man. I'm not sayin' I like him. I don't like him, and never will, after the things he's done. But I can't deny he's changed."

"I can't forget the sight of him at the siege," added Willie, "the way he stood against Prince John's army, and held them off while Robin got us into the castle. Say what you like about Gisborne, but he saved a lot of lives that day. And then what he did, helpin' Robin kill Sheriff Vaisey! Hate him or love him, we do owe him that much."

The men were silent for a moment, remembering the desperate struggle for the freedom of Nottingham's people from Vaisey's tyranny, and the price so many paid to secure it.

"'Tis a shame about King Richard, just the same," offered Brian. "Maybe if he'd stayed in England more and not gone off to foreign parts lookin' for trouble he'd still be alive and rulin' over us, and not King John. After all that Robin and his men did to boot his sorry arse out of our lives, and we still ended up with the bastard."

"Aye, well, you go lookin' for trouble and it usually finds you," answered Hugh. "Aw, what does it matter in the long run, lads? Kings come and go, and one's much like the other, when all's said and done. Meantime, we work and pay our taxes and starve half the year, and sometimes we have a bit of fun to make our time on God's earth worth all the misery of this life."

"You could make a song outta that," joked Willie, as he nudged his brother's beefy shoulder. "Sing it for us all at next harvest festival."

"Give over, you big bloody fool!" replied Hugh, as he gave his brother a playful shove. "You'd all have to be pretty well laid out drunk to listen to my singin' with any pleasure!"

When their laughter quieted, Hugh again slowly shook his head at them, and smiled.

"Robin of Locksley, and Guy of Gisborne. Well, lads, it's a strange world and no mistake."


	3. Chapter 3 Locksley Village Gossip

**LOCKSLEY VILLAGE GOSSIP**

"What you got planned for your man's dinner tonight, Bess?" asked Rachel.

"He'll be lucky if he gets a crust of bread, that one," replied Bess with a toss of her head. "Went off early this mornin' to the market. Promised me he'd be back before midday, he did. So where is he now? One guess—he's at the Trip, talkin' and drinkin' with the rest of them fools when there's work aplenty in the blacksmith shop to be done."

"Well, so long as he don't give any tavern wench the eye, I don't care what time my Willie gets home. The house stays a lot cleaner when he's out of it."

Four Locksley women, gathered around four washtubs, smiled knowingly at each other over the ways of men as they sloshed clothes in the soapy water, wrung them out, and hung them to dry in the breezy summer sunshine.

"Better put something on the table, Bess, dear," said Mary with a wink. "Hugh won't do you much good on a crust of bread."

"Well, now, he's al'right," answered Bess, her broad face flushed from exertion and the hot steam rising from the tub. "Not bad when he gets 'round to it. And he keeps me back warm on a winter's night."

"Better watch out, men being what they are, or you'll have more than a warm back to think of."

"God forbid! Eight in me brood now, and the youngest already six! I'd kill him, I would, if he got me with child again."

"Don't blame poor Hugh. It takes two, you know."

"Is it true what I heard about Lady Meg, that she's goin' to have another?"

"That's what my Anna tells me. I'm happy for her. Two fine boys for Sir Guy, so maybe she'll have a daughter this time for herself," said Mary. Her smile as she glanced in the direction of Gisborne Hall belied her careworn face and graying locks. "Aye, and him so good-lookin' and all. Wish I was a young lass again. He'd be just the sort I'd fancy!"

"Aw, Mary, you wouldn't know what to do with him if you had him, you've been a widow too long."

"You never forget how, dear," replied Mary, and the others laughed.

"Why are the wickedest men always the best-looking ones?" observed Rachel.

"Well, now, to be sure he's not so wicked anymore. That wife of his has worked wonders these last few years. Made quite a decent fellow out of him."

"Time was when we all thought he and Lady Marian would make a match of it, remember? But then she ran out on him on their wedding day, and straight back into Robin's arms, by the looks of things."

"Whatever was she thinkin'?" said the irrepressible Mary. "I wouldn't have."

"I'd sure like to know where Lady Marian was for all that time she went missing, wouldn't you? Gone more than a year, 'til she showed up again during the siege."

"Sheriff Vaisey and Gisborne disappeared at the same time, and who'd we end up with? Sir Jasper, and him makin' a bloody mess of things."

"And Robin of Locksley and his men gone, too. Very strange, if you ask me. Not a sightin' of any of them for months."

"I heard they went overseas on some mission, all the way to the Holy Land where King Richard was."

"What were they doin' there?"

"God knows."

"Nothing good for sure. It's a shame Vaisey's ship didn't sink on the way home. Well, we sure missed our Robin, and I was never so glad as to see him back. He's a good lad, that one."

"Lad, you call him, Mary? He's forty if he's a day!"

"I know, but he'll always be a young lad to me. I remember him from when he was just takin' his first steps. I used to look after him for his mum 'til she died."

"He did the best he could to make our lives better, even if he couldn't stop King Richard from getting himself killed, and John takin' the throne just like he wanted."

"Ah, well, Robin's not the Lord Almighty, after all. He's just a man, so it's no use expecting too much, eh, my dears? He got rid of Vaisey for us at least," said Bess.

"That little Eleanor of theirs, my! She's a handful. Lady Marian said to me one day that she's Robin's daughter and his son all in one."

"She can already outshoot most of the men in the village, and her what? Only nine or so? My Matthew gets mad about it and says 'tisn't natural for a girl."

"Aw, leave the lass be. I like to see a girl with a bit of spirit, not all tame and meek as a mouse, bent over her sewing and blushin' and gigglin' every time a boy looks at her. She'll give the boys a run for their money in a few years, and good for her, I say."

"That she will. No man will ever walk all over our Eleanor. Anyway, it don't look like Robin and Marian will be havin' any more children, so she may be the only son Robin gets."

"Lady Marian had a bad time of it, from what Matilda says, so perhaps it's best."

"Speakin' of women, I'll tell you all something strange that my Hugh told me. He says to me that Brian, the cooper from Clun, is dead certain the Nightwatchman wasn't a man at all, but a woman!"

"No! A woman?"

"A woman." Bess nodded her head vigorously. "He says he got a good look at 'him' one night, and saw that he had, you know—" She gestured at her own ample breasts. "Stickin' out there under the Nightwatchman's tunic, plain as plain."

The other women were convulsed with laughter.

"That's right, a woman! And the Sheriff and Gisborne after her and all, and never could catch her," said Bess.

"I heard Gisborne stabbed him, or was it her, once, but the Nightwatchman got away. I wonder what's become of him, or her? He disappeared about the same time as Robin and the Sheriff, and no one I've talked to has seen him since."

"Well, he's not been seen by anyone that I know of in these parts for many years now, and I don't suppose we'll ever know the truth of it, any more than what Robin and the Sheriff were about."

"That's the way of it, my dears, and always has been. The nobles run our country any way they choose, and we work and slave and keep our heads down if we don't want to lose our heads."

"Our Robin and Sir Guy very nearly lost theirs when King John had them arrested. Poor Lady Meg, about to have her baby, and her husband dragged off to prison and her not knowin' if she'd ever see him again," said Rachel.

"My Anna said it was near to breakin' her heart to see her mistress holding tight to baby Richard and cryin' herself sick night after night 'cause she feared for her husband," said Mary. "Rich or poor, it doesn't matter, does it, dears? We all suffer in this life."

"Aye, that we do. But Vaisey's long gone, we've got a good man in Sir William runnin' things in Nottinghamshire now, and King John leaves us alone for the most part. It's quiet here in Locksley now, and God willin', it'll stay that way."


	4. Ch 4  Rodger Ponders Life's Mysteries

**RODGER PONDERS LIFE'S MYSTERIES**

Complicated. That's what life was, and the older one got, the more complicated life became.

Rodger of Gisborne had learned a new word. It seemed to fit so many things. No wonder the grown-ups used that word so much.

He stood inside the shelter of Gisborne Hall's snug stable, and brushed his pony's shedding winter coat until the hair flew in clouds around him. Huge flakes of snow swirled outside the barn doors, covering the muddy ground with a pristine blanket of white. It was early spring. Rodger had planned an afternoon ride across Locksley's fields. Months of heavy snowfall had kept him penned inside the house for far too long. After several promising days of warm weather and puddles, it was suddenly snowing again. He sighed and turned back to the task at hand. No ride today, just a thorough grooming.

"How you treat your horse while on the ground is just as important as what you do when you're riding him," Reggie had taught him. "Don't just ride him. Spend time with him. Muck out his stall, brush him down. Talk to him. He'll learn the sound of your voice, and learn to trust you."

Starlight was his new mount. His brother had inherited round-bellied, short-legged Prancer, contentedly munching hay in the next stall.

"A black one," he had asked Father, when it became obvious that he was rapidly outgrowing Prancer. "A shiny black pony, with a white star on his forehead. I'll call him Starlight."

Glorious dreams of this coveted new pony had filled his thoughts night and day for weeks, months, but the dream had come to a crashing end when he was punished for disobeying his father by meddling with his sword and breaking his mother's vases. The next day his father had packed him off to the orphanage, over the protestations of his mother, to spend a week with Little John.

"You need to learn some appreciation for what you have," came the reprimand, "and stop grasping for things you can't have."

Father was always saying things like that, and sometimes his lectures made sense, after he'd had time to mull them over.

The orphans ate their simple meals from communal wooden bowls, and slept three and four to a bed. In spacious Gisborne Hall, he didn't even have to share a room, let alone a bed, with his younger brother. He had a room all to himself. It did not take him long to realize how good he had it at home. The lesson was learned. Dreadfully homesick, and with eyes newly opened and a heart filled with shame and disappointment with himself, he had returned to his parents.

Father had taken him out to the stable almost as soon as he got there. To his shock, instead of more punishment, a new pony waited for him.

Complicated. Perhaps that word applied to his father as well.

Starlight was everything he'd dreamed of. Father said he was half-Arabian, like the high-spirited and tough and swift little desert horses the Saracens rode. It showed in the pony's wide-set, intelligent eyes, his small ears and delicate muzzle, his light, springing step and proud bearing.

Now if he could just have a falcon, a trained falcon that would perch on his gauntleted arm as he rode his beautiful pony through Locksley. No, through Nottingham, then more people could see. But when he had asked Father, his father had only smiled and shook his head no.

"A hunting falcon is not a toy, Rodger."

He knew that! Why did Father say such things? Sometimes the things he said made _no_ sense!

"Why, Mother?"

"You're too young, Rodger. You'll understand when you're older."

That was always the answer to his questions, it seemed. When he walked into a room, and the conversations ceased when he asked what they were talking about, the answer was always some variation on "it's complicated", followed by "you'll understand when you're older."

When you're older. How much older? There was so much that he wanted to understand now! For instance, why had he always called Robin his uncle, and Marian his aunt, when Father was not actually Robin's brother? This revelation, still new, had stunned him. His father and Robin looked nothing alike, so he supposed he should have guessed, but Eleanor's parents had always been Uncle and Aunt to him.

And Uncle Archer, who traveled from London, and other faraway places that Rodger longed to visit, was actually Father's brother, and Uncle Robin's brother. But how could that be? Robin's father and his father's mother hadn't been married to each other, so how could they have Archer? Complicated, and something he soon learned little boys weren't encouraged to inquire too deeply about.

He had a younger brother, Richard, who was five, and now he had a baby sister, too, Ghislaine, who was named after their long-dead grandmother. She wasn't very interesting. All she did was sleep and cry and make nasty smells, and he could never understand why Richard was so taken with her, why he wanted to hold her and sing to her and play with her by the hour.

"Be good to your sister, Rodger," Father said. "Don't ever take her for granted, or be unkind to her. You may never have another."

Father had once had a sister, Isabella. Aunt Isabella, he supposed. She was another mystery. She was dead, and no one spoke much about her. Father would not say how she died, only that it was long ago, before he and Mother married. His aunt's grave, her simple stone cross, was on the hillside overlooking the village, beside the graves of his grandmother Ghislaine and grandfather Rodger, for whom he was named. His grandparents, he knew, had died long ago in a fire when his father was young.

And Uncle Robin's parents were dead, too. He'd heard that Robin's father wasn't actually dead for twenty years, but showed up alive, and then he died for real. Very strange. And he had something to do with Father and Uncle Robin's friendship.

Father and Uncle Robin had been the best of friends for as long as he could remember, but he'd learned, to his astonishment, that it hadn't always been that way. One night he'd overheard Reggie and a few of the other stable hands and workers, talking about Father and Robin and Aunt Marian. Father had once loved Marian, they said, and he and Robin had fought over her, and hated and tried to kill each other.

Kill each other? Impossible! And fighting over Aunt Marian? But Father loved Mother, didn't he? Hadn't he always loved Mother? And he would never hurt Uncle Robin. They fought with swords, but it was all in fun. They bruised each other once in a while, but never more than that, and never on purpose.

And what had Father done, and who was this "devil of a Sheriff" his father had worked for? Surely not Sir William, who had been Sheriff of Nottingham for many years. He was no devil. Everyone loved him. He was a kind man and generous to the poor.

Was something that Father did, in his past, the reason why some people didn't like him? When the family went to Nottingham, more than a few people made a wide path around Father when they saw him coming. They would glance sidelong at him with anxious, unfriendly, even hostile faces. He'd seen that, and it hurt.

Why did people not like Father? Did he scare people for some reason? True, Father was tall, and very strong, and almost always he dressed in black, and he didn't smile or laugh much except at home.

When he thought about it, it was true. Father didn't smile much, except when he looked at Mother, and he seldom laughed. When he did, he looked so different he hardly seemed like the same person.

Father had laughed last night, and Rodger was still trying to figure out exactly why.

Mother had let him crawl into bed beside her and Father once, when he woke up from a nightmare too frightened to go back to sleep alone in his room.

"You come in whenever you're scared, Rodger, and we'll be here for you, darling," Mother had whispered to him as he drifted off to sleep, securely nestled between them in their wide bed.

Well, another nightmare had awakened him during the night, and he'd run from his bed and into the hallway. Opening his parent's bedroom door, he'd been surprised at first to see a candle lit on the bedside table, but even more surprised to see that his parents were not asleep. No, but in a strange position under the thick covers. Father was lying on top of Mother, and her bare arms were around his equally bare shoulders.

He'd had only a second to stand, blinking in the candlelight, and wonder what it meant, before Father had leapt from under the bedcovers with a yell, grabbed his arm, and propelled him from their bedroom. He'd pushed him back into his own room and slammed the door behind him.

Only in hindsight did he realize that his father had been, in fact, completely naked. Did he always sleep naked? And Mother? He couldn't remember them being naked when he'd slept in their bed before. It was an odd idea, funny, yes, quite funny. He might have laughed if Father hadn't been so furious, muttering words under his breath that he was sure Mother had told _him_ never to say.

After a moment he had gone to his door and opened it slightly, only to hear his parent's muffled laughter from the other side of the hallway.

Why was Father so angry one minute, and laughing the next? He wished he knew. Another mystery, and a complicated one.

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Prancer, finished with his hay, nickered at him from the next stall. Rodger laid down the brush and went to the little dappled grey pony, who bumped his head against Rodger's chest and nuzzled his hands in the familiar way he'd always done when he was looking for a treat. Rodger felt his heart swell with a strange pang he had never felt before.

_Betrayal is the worse crime a man can commit_, he'd heard his father say. Betrayal.

"What does betrayal mean?" he'd asked Allan a Dale.

Allan had looked at him rather oddly for some reason, almost as if he were embarrassed, and for a moment Rodger wondered if he'd said one of those bad words that Father sometimes used when he thought Mother couldn't hear him.

"It means to turn your back on your friends."

He smoothed Prancer's thick white forelock of hair out of his eyes, the eyes that were now sunken with age. Were those words meant for him? He hadn't paid the elderly pony much attention since he'd gotten his new one. Starlight was everything that plodding old Prancer wasn't. He was young and beautiful and graceful, and he ran swifter than the wind.

But Prancer had been more than a mount for him since the day Reggie had first settled him on the little pony's broad back. He'd been a friend, too. A warm, comforting friend, who hadn't minded Rodger's early, clumsy attempts at horsemanship—the needless tugs on his bridle, the too hard kicks in his ribs. The gentle old pony had never once trod on his toes, or failed to stop and wait for him to climb back on when he fell off. He'd patiently endured the hot tears down his neck when Rodger, crushed by Father's anger or Eleanor's teasing, buried his face in Prancer's mane and cried until he could cry no more.

He'd loved Prancer, but this new pony had taken his place and now occupied all his time. Did Prancer understand, or did he see it as a betrayal every time he rode out of the stable on Starlight? Would every move forward from now on, every new thing gained, mean a painful letting go of something else, the sacrifice of someone once loved?

As Prancer continued to search his hands and then his pockets, he put his arms around the pony's neck, and hugged him hard.

"I'm sorry, Prancer. I'm sorry I haven't paid attention to you. I will from now on, I promise."

He pulled the carrot, which he had brought for Starlight, from his pocket, and watched with a tender smile as Prancer crunched it down. But his eyes were troubled, and his heart ached with this new sadness and the bitter chill of loss.


	5. Chapter 5 Meg Ponders Guy's Mysteries

**MEG PONDERS GUY'S MYSTERIES**

Meg stood at the table in the warm kitchen of Gisborne Hall, kneading a bowlful of bread dough. Guy was gone to Nottingham with Robin and Allan on business for the day, and, knowing them, they wouldn't be back until late, not with a stop at the Trip Inn figuring in their plans. If the snow continued, they might even stay for the night, and come back on the morrow.

She smiled to herself as she rolled the dough onto the floured surface of the table. If Guy were home, she certainly would not be on her feet, making bread. That was work for the servants, he would insist, and he'd have her settled in a well-cushioned chair instead, with her feet up and a cozy blanket covering her lap.

Ghislaine was four months old now, but her husband still fussed and worried over her as much as he had right through her pregnancy and after the birth, even though she assured him regularly that she felt perfectly well and strong. He had done the same thing when Rodger was born, and although his excessive coddling was at times annoying, she also found it endearing.

He had not been home to fret over her when Richard was born, however. He had been locked away, along with Robin, in King John's dungeons.

They had learned of King Richard's death, and the coronation of his brother John as the new king, five winters ago when Tuck and Archer had brought them word. Several anxious months followed this sobering news. Then, one terrible day, King John's guards had arrived in Locksley to take her husband and Robin back with them in shackles to London. Torn forcibly from Guy's arms, she would never forget the look in his eyes as he was led away from her.

How she and Marian got through the hellish weeks of waiting and wondering, she could not remember. They had both clung to hope that all would end well, but they also knew there was a very good chance that they would never see their husbands again. Every waking moment she had imagined Guy already dead, cruelly executed by the new king in revenge for his "betrayal" so many years ago. Night after long night she had laid awake, cradling her body swelling with the new little life she and Guy had made with their love for each other, and prayed for his safe return.

Marian and Matilda had been with her when Richard was born almost eight weeks later, after a long and tiring labour, but not Guy. By the time he and Robin were released and allowed to return to Locksley, his second son was already two months old.

Matilda had spent her days between Locksley Manor and Gisborne Hall for several weeks after that, to help Meg and Marian tend to their weakened, emaciated husbands and nurse them slowly back to health. As if the semi-starvation and filthy conditions they had to endure in the prison weren't enough, Guy had become very sick with a high fever shortly after his return home. Soon after, Rodger had also fallen ill.

_What would I have done without Matilda?_ thought Meg. _Or_ _Anna? How would I have coped without her, with a newborn, a toddler, and a bed-ridden husband vying for my attention and care?_ _Quiet, shy little Anna. She was the bravest one of all of us, and a rock of support for me._

_Rodger was so sick at one point that I thought we were going to lose him. I couldn't tell Guy, he was so ill himself. I was afraid to leave Rodger's bedside, so I left Guy largely to Anna's care. Poor Anna, who was so afraid of him! But pity took the place of her fear when she saw him all weak and helpless, lying in his bed unable to get up. She sponged him off to cool his fever, bore up under his delirious ranting, and patiently spooned broth into his mouth as though he were a child. _

_He can shout at her all he wants now, but she just smiles and says "Yes, sir", and goes about her business. She wasn't afraid of him after that, and I don't think she ever will be again._

She looked down at the basket where her daughter slept peacefully. Ghislaine was a placid, good-natured baby, like Richard had been. Richard was quite besotted with his baby sister, and eager to play the role of "mother's helper" in any way he could.

_He's such a sweet little boy, _thought Meg_. A steady character, so_ _affectionate and kindhearted._ _He'll be my comfort in my old age. _

She divided the bread dough in two, and oiled the loaf pans_. _

_Rodger, well…. At the moment he's more taken with his pony than his __sister. Out in the barn with him now, no doubt, feeding and grooming him. _

_Guy took such pains to find Rodger just the pony he wanted. Does our firstborn know that? Is he aware of the weeks his father spent scouring the horse dealer's markets in every town for miles around until he found what he was looking for, all in a desire to please his son and give him what he asked for? _

_It would be a black pony that he wanted, too. Black, with a spot of white. Like Guy. Black, dark, with that little spot of light, that spark of goodness in him. The good man underneath the darkness, the man I came to love._

Meg pressed the dough into the pans as she contemplated the mystery that was her husband.

_Guy expects so much of Rodger, too much sometimes. He forgets that our son is still just a little boy. But I know why._

_Every time he looks into Rodger's face, he sees himself. He doesn't want our son to follow in his footsteps, to do the things he's done. It's his chance to get things right this time, through our son, and not watch him make the same mistakes or have to live with the same regrets that he must live with for the rest of his life. So he sternly punishes every bad thing Rodger does, and tries to stamp out every wrong tendency or thought he sees in him. _

_Rodger is too young to understand. He's innocent, and I want him to stay that way as long as he can. He doesn't know what his father was, what he's done. Someday we won't be able to hide the truth from him, but I don't want him to know those things right now. Not yet. _

_Does he know how much his father loves him? Probably not. He only_ _believes that his father is hard on him and he can never please him. He sees that the other children in the village have it much easier, and it hurts him._

_Just when I think I have Guy figured out, though, he surprises me all over again, and sometimes pleasantly so. He gave him that pony right after Rodger disobeyed him. He punished him so severely, and then presented him with the new pony Rodger had given up all hope of ever owning. I don't know who was more shocked by the gift, our son or me. _

_Well, life with Guy has never been dull, and I don't think it ever will be. But from that night we spent in the dungeons of Nottingham_ _Castle, when he poured out his heart to me as we both faced death, I knew we __belonged to each other. If by some miracle we both survived, I vowed that I would join my life willingly with his. Robin and his friends provided the miracle by rescuing us, and I followed through with my vow. I have no regrets. I would do it all over again._

_Robin, Marian, Allan—they all think they know Guy, but no one knows him the way I do. I'm the one who wakes up beside him at night when the memories of the people he killed torment him. I'm the one who holds him until he falls back asleep exhausted. Only I know the fear that haunts him every day, the fear that lurks around every corner of Locksley and Nottingham, the fear that someone waits his chance, with knife or sword or bow, to take his revenge on Guy for what he's done. It's his burden to bear for the rest of his days, and I can't help him. I love him so much, but try as I might, I can't take away his pain. _

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She set the loaves to bake, wiped her hands, and picked up Ghislaine, who had just opened her big brown eyes and yawned. She sat down in the chair to rock her, and recalled Rodger's face when he had walked into their bedroom the night before, and been treated to the scene in his parent's bed.

_Thank goodness we were mostly hidden from his young eyes under a thick bedcovering. My, the way Guy sprang from the bed and hustled our son out of the room, muttering curses unfit for the boy's ears at our interrupted lovemaking! Guy frightened him with his explosive temper, and Rodger has no way of knowing that his father wasn't as angry as he sounded._

"Tell him you're sorry," she had said to Guy, and Guy had agreed. But he had left early, before Rodger was awake, and she knew that by the time he came home, after he'd thrown back a few pints of ale with Robin and Allan, he'd have forgotten all about frightening his son.

Well, she would tell Rodger. She would explain the best she could. That's what mothers did. That's what women did. They smoothed over bumps, salved wounds, kissed away hurts, polished off rough edges.

_And Guy certainly has his share of rough edges that need polishing. Oh, yes, if anyone knows that, I do. _

She could still see Guy's eyes as he'd kissed her goodbye, shining into hers with the warm, intense glow that always followed their lovemaking.

"You look rather pleased with yourself," she'd whispered to him, and his smile had deepened, his roguish, sensual smile that still caused her pulse to race after ten years of marriage and three children. Those words had become their little private joke, for they were the first words she'd spoken to him the morning after they had been joined as husband and wife.

It had been so sweet, so good last night. Even better after the interruption, for she had been unable, after Guy crawled grumpily back into the bed beside her, to suppress her laughter, and soon the frown had left his face and he'd laughed, too. She loved to see him laugh, to see the way his whole body relaxed when he laughed. Then she was in his arms again, and he had made love to her as tenderly as he had on their first night together.

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She heard the front door open as she set Ghislaine back in her basket and went to check on the bread. Rodger came into the kitchen, his jacket and his boots covered in snow and bits of hay.

_Just like his father,_ thought Meg, as the snow began to melt and make puddles on the floor, the floor Anna had just swept and scrubbed an hour ago. _Never a thought to the messes they make that others have to clean up._

But one look into her son's sad face, and she stopped the scolding that was ready on her lips.

"You look like you've lost your best friend. What's wrong, darling?"

Rodger didn't reply right away. He stood at the table, twisting and rolling a bit of leftover dough in his hands. Meg didn't pry, didn't hurry his answer. He would talk when he was ready.

"Mother," he said at last, "do you think Prancer still likes me, or do you think he's mad at me, 'cause I ride Starlight now?"

"If you show him you still care, he won't be mad," she replied after a moment's pause. "He's a wise old pony, Rodger. He knows."

"I petted him and gave him a carrot," said Rodger. "But….I still feel bad, somehow."

"Prancer will always be your friend, don't you worry about that. But you're growing up, Rodger. Oftentimes to get something you want, you have to let something else go. I know it hurts—"

She stopped. _Marian. That's who Guy gave up. He had to let her go, though it broke his heart to lose her. He couldn't have her, and he knew it. She belonged to Robin. He married me instead, and learned to be happy with another. _

_What will my son have to give up in the future? Will his heart be broken the same way?_

Rodger's head bent down as he continued to twist the dough between his hands.

"Something else is bothering you, isn't it?" she offered. "What is it? Are you upset about last night?"

He sighed and looked up at her. Her son, with his brooding, solemn expression, his strong, angular face and piercing blue eyes, was a hazy mirror, an unfinished but still discernible reflection of Guy.

_Guy is already in him, in this child we made together. All of Guy's strengths, and all of his weaknesses. All of his temper, his passion and his anger, and all of his vulnerability, are here in our son, our sensitive little son. _

_Life is going to hurt him, just like it has his father, and I can't always shield him from the hurt, any more than I can heal all of my husband's wounds. Will he learn to be happy just the same? Will he be strong, and learn to forge a life for himself out of pain and loss as his father has done? Will he be grateful for every day, and every joy that comes his way? _

"Why was Father so angry with me?" asked Rodger. "You said if I had a scary dream I could stay with you, so why did he yell at me?"

Meg pulled her son close, wet jacket and all, and kissed the top of his curly head.

"He wasn't angry with you, Rodger. Your father didn't mean to yell at you."

"Then why did he?"

"Dear, it's hard to explain."

"You mean it's complicated?"

"Yes, it's complicated. You see, your father and I, well, sometimes we want to be alone. We were, we were loving each other, Rodger, when you walked in, and it startled us, that's all. That's why your father yelled at you. He wasn't really angry, and he's sorry he frightened you. Just remember to knock next time before you come in."

_Is that why I heard them laugh?_ _They were laughing at me?_ thought Rodger. _And loving each other? But don't Mother and Father always love each other?_

"Loving each other? What does that mean?" he asked aloud.

And then Mother said the familiar words, the ones he'd heard so many times before.

"You'll understand when you're older."


	6. Ch 6 I'm Robin's Daughter, That's Why

**"I'M ROBIN HOOD'S DAUGHTER, THAT'S WHY!"**

Eleanor looked out at the falling snow with her chin in her hand and a morose expression on her face. Papa was gone to Nottingham, so there would be no archery lesson. Mama was leaving as well, to visit with some of the other village women, and she wasn't invited along.

"Why can't I come?" she asked Mama.

"It's grown-up talk. You'd be bored."

"No, I wouldn't! And it's dull around here!"

"There's plenty to do. Finish your story. Work on your spelling lesson."

"I hate spelling. It's boring."

"Then don't blame me if you can't read or spell when you grow up."

"John and Tom a Dale don't have to learn lessons! Their parents don't make them!"

"You know perfectly well that their mother can't read. And your father is trying to teach Allan. He didn't learn, either, when he was young, and it's much harder to learn when you're older. Not being able to read or write is not a good thing, Eleanor. You should be grateful that you have the opportunity."

But Eleanor didn't feel grateful. "I don't feel like reading."

"Finish your embroidery, then."

"Come on, Mama, that's worse than spelling!"

"It will teach you patience, which you need to learn."

"Papa says archery will teach me patience."

"No doubt, but there's more to life than archery lessons."

Eleanor heaved a heavy sigh. Mama just didn't understand. All she did was lecture.

Marian left without saying anything more. Eleanor went upstairs to her bedroom and threw herself across her little bed, tucked into a curtained alcove near the window.

Why did it have to snow again today, of all days? She'd spent hours making new arrows the day before! Papa had just taught her a new trick that she wanted to perfect before she showed it to Rodger and the other village boys. She couldn't show them this new trick inside; there wasn't enough room to do it properly. With the snow coming down thick and fast, there would be no outside target practice, and no games of "Sheriff versus outlaws", either.

There were several boys in the village that she liked to play with. Her closest friends, besides Rodger, were the smith's younger sons, their cousin Matthew, and Allan's sons Tom and John. She was, of course, always the famous outlaw Robin Hood, and the boys played the roles of her fellow gang of outlaws, or the evil old Sheriff's guards who were trying to catch them.

Someone had to play the Sheriff, however, and that someone was usually Rodger. Their ongoing arguments about the subject went something like this:

"_You're the Sheriff, Rodger." _

"_I'm sick of being the Sheriff. I want to be an outlaw. Why can't I be Robin Hood this time?"_

"_Because I'm Robin Hood's daughter, that's why. He can hit anything with his bow, and you can't. Anyway, you're good at making crabby faces. You're making a really good one right now, you should see yourself! You have to play the Sheriff." _

"_You think you're so smart, Eleanor, but I'm going to be a better shot than you someday!"_

"_If you say so, but for now you're still the Sheriff, so stop whining about it." _

Boys had more fun than girls, Eleanor had decided, and they made better friends than girls. None of the girls in the village liked archery, or wanted to play outlaws and guards. They only wanted to play with dolls and help their mothers with baby brothers and sisters. They cried when their brothers splashed mud on their dresses or pushed them into Locksley pond.

The boys knew better than to push her! They'd get the same back, and more. Besides, she could outshoot any of them. The bigger boys were stronger and could shoot farther, but Papa had told her that precision was far more important than how far she could shoot. None of then could hit targets with greater accuracy than her. If they resented her for it, they also respected her. She was accepted as "one of the lads", even though she was a girl and wore dresses and long hair.

"Why do I have to wear a dress?" she'd asked Mama yesterday. "I hate dresses! I can't run in one unless I hike up the skirt."

"Eleanor, how do you manage to get so dirty? Look at your face! It looks like you've slid through a pig trough. And your hair is full of rat's nests."

"Ouch!" she'd cried as Mama yanked the comb through her hopelessly tangled, waist-length hair. "Can't you just cut it off?"

"Your father is doing his best to turn you into a boy as it is," Mama replied. "I'm not going to have you looking like one, too."

"My hair gets in the way, just like my dress."

"When you're a grown-up woman, Eleanor, you can shave your head bald for all I care. But right now, you're still my daughter. Here, I'll braid it and tie it up on your head, and then it'll be out of your way. And no, you're not wearing boy's clothes, and that's final."

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She liked Rodger. He wasn't as rough as the other boys. He was cleaner, too, and didn't smell as bad as they did. He was a bit of a sissy and a mama's boy, and he was fun to tease because he always took her so seriously, but she liked him just the same. Mama didn't approve of the way she teased him, however.

"_You shouldn't pick on Rodger so much."_

"_Why not? It's fun!"_

"_Fun for you, but not for him, Eleanor. Besides, you might regret it some day." _

She wasn't sure what Mama meant by that. Honestly, how could she help picking on him? Rodger just asked to be teased sometimes! Like when he tried, in vain, to best her at archery. The other boys had pretty much given up trying to outshoot her, but not Rodger. He was so stupidly stubborn about it. Why couldn't he just admit that he was a lousy shot? The kid couldn't hit the side of a barn if his life depended on it!

When Uncle Archer had come for a visit last fall, he and Papa had spent hours racing their horses across the open fields near the manor, shooting at targets while at a full gallop. Rodger, utterly enthralled by the spectacle, voiced his determination to repeat their stunts.

The results had been good for a laugh. Though he galloped his swift black pony with great energy and enthusiasm, none of Rodger's arrows hit anywhere near the targets. They went wild—lost to sight in the tall meadow grass, buried in tree branches and fence posts.

One even flew across the field and ripped through a dress hanging on the clothesline belonging to the smith's wife. She was not happy about her best dress receiving a nasty tear, and Rodger had gotten a fearful scolding from her. He would have gotten a whipping from his father, too, if his mother hadn't intervened and offered to replace the torn dress. Eleanor supposed that poor Bess, with eight children to feed and clothe, didn't get many new dresses.

Rodger had a more grown-up bow now, and it was much nicer than the one he'd had before, though still not as nice as hers. Her new bow was a gift from Papa's friend Will Scarlett, which he'd made for her when she was born. Papa had saved it to surprise her with when she was old enough to use it.

She loved her new bow, and she wished she could thank Will for it, but he and his Saracen wife Djaq had gone back to Djaq's homeland many years ago. She had no memory of them. She knew only that they lived in some far away place called Acre, where they raised messenger pigeons.

Papa and Mama treasured the letters from them. One letter told them that Djaq's uncle Bassam had died and left them everything, the other let their friends know of the birth of their first child, a daughter.

Papa always hoped for another letter. The two he had were tattered from countless readings.

"Will they come to see us?" she'd asked Papa.

"I don't know," Papa replied. "Acre is far away, Eleanor, and they have a little child now to think of."

"Can't we go to see them? How far away is Acre?"

"Very far, dear one. A long trip on the sea, and a long ride across land. It takes weeks to get there, even months."

Weeks? Months? Her one trip to London, a year ago, had seemed to take forever. She couldn't even begin to imagine traveling for months. She knew that Papa and Mama and the rest of Papa's former gang of outlaws, and Uncle Guy, had been to Acre, but no one would tell her why.

She wasn't even sure what being an outlaw meant, anyway. Papa and his friends had helped many poor people and been kind to them, so why had that been a bad thing to the Sheriff? Not Sir William, of course, but another man who ruled Nottingham before Sir William. What was his name? Vaisey? Well, he had been dead for years, long before she was born, and that was all she knew of him.

She wished she could remember Will and Djaq, but her earliest memory was instead a terrible one. Her father and Uncle Guy had been led away by some armed men in uniforms, while her mother and Aunt Meg cried as the villagers gathered around them. It was a vague recollection, so murky and indistinct now that she wondered for a long time if the memory was, in fact, only a bad childhood dream and not a real memory.

"_No_, _it was real, Eleanor. Your father and Guy were gone for several months. They had to go to London_ _to see the king."_

"_Why, Mama?" _

"_They had a little problem with King John that needed to be straightened out." _

"_What did they do? Was he mad at them?"_

"_It's hard to explain right now. I'll tell you when you're older."_

"_Will Papa have to go away again, Mama? Will those men come back some day and take him away?"_

"_I hope not." _

Rodger could not remember his father being taken away. He had been too young. But only a few months ago, they both had received a shock of a different kind. Papa had broken the news to her and Rodger that he and Guy were, in fact, not brothers. They weren't blood relatives at all, but only shared a brother, Uncle Archer.

She and Rodger were not cousins, then, as they had always believed. It had taken a while to figure it all out. What was she supposed to call her aunt and uncle now?

"Can I still call you Aunt Meg and Uncle Guy?" she'd asked them.

Meg had hugged her close and kissed her and said, "Of course you can!" Guy had given her one of his rare smiles, and hugged her as well. "We're family, Eleanor. Nothing will change that."

She was okay with it now. The shock and surprise had faded. Uncle Guy was right. Nothing had really changed.

"Nothing's changed," she'd said to Rodger one day, when she saw that he was still dismayed and close to tears over the news. "We're family, Rodger, and nothing will change that."

He hadn't said anything for a few minutes, just wiped his eyes and started to walk away. Then he'd suddenly turned back and replied, "Now and always," and given her a smile that made her, for a moment at least, ashamed of all the mean things she'd said or done to him.

Yes, there were times when she really liked Rodger, and that had been one of those times.

She got up from her bed, and looked out at the swirling snow. There was no point in sitting in the house all day with nothing to do. Rodger was home, probably out in the stable with his pony.

She picked up her bow and quiver of arrows. She would find Rodger and show him her new archery trick before she showed it to the other boys. And this time she wouldn't tease him about being a lousy shot. Instead, she'd teach the trick to him. Just Rodger, and none of the other boys. She'd work with him until he could do it perfectly, and then they'd both surprise the others!

Maybe, just maybe, she'd even let him try out her bow.


	7. Chapter 7 Doesn't Mean I Like You

**"DOESN'T MEAN I LIKE YOU"**

"What do you think, lads? Should we venture home, or get a room for the night?" asked Robin, as he, Guy, and Allan shook the snow off their coats and stepped inside the well-lit and toasty warm interior of the Trip Inn in Nottingham.

Allan shrugged. "I'm for stayin' here. What about you, Giz?"

Guy glanced out at the deepening twilight and the driving snow.

"Meg would want me to stay, I'm sure, and not try riding home in this storm."

"I'll see if we can get a room, then," said Robin. "Be right back."

He returned a moment later. "We're in luck. There's one room left."

"Good. Then let's have some supper."

The men found a table near the cheerfully blazing fireplace and sat down. The tavern was filled to capacity with travelers taken by surprise by the spring storm, along with the usual crowd of regulars engaged in eating, drinking, and playing boisterous games of chance.

"What're goin' to have?" Allan asked over the din. Then he added, with a laugh, "I don't think they serve squirrel stew here, mates!"

Robin was immediately reminded of Much. Much had stuck to his sworn oath that he would never again touch squirrel meat once they left the outlaw camp behind. They had faced frequent hunger in the past, first as crusaders and then as outlaws, and Much had never dealt well with it. Now, as the Lord of Bonchurch Lodge, Much no longer missed meals, and had grown contentedly stout in his middle years.

Robin ran his fingers absently over the table's rough surface while he read the evening's menu chalked up on the board. It suddenly occurred to him that they were sitting in the same spot where he had confronted Allan after finding out he had been spying for Gisborne. Was that little notch in the tabletop made by the arrow he had fired at Allan's bag of betrayal money? If Allan was aware that they were seated at the very same table, he gave no sign, and Robin decided to say nothing of it, even in jest. Some things were better left unsaid, and some events of the past were better not revisited.

He looked across at his two companions. They were a study in contrasts. Guy, dark and somber, Allan, all sunny smiles and jokes. Despite their differences, or perhaps because of them, the two men had an affinity for one another that amused Robin. Years ago, a lifetime ago, it hadn't been so funny. Both men had been his enemies—one, the brutal servant of Vaisey, the other a traitor to his friends and fellow outlaws. Yet now they sat down together as the closest of friends.

_How strange life is,_ Robin mused. _One never knows the turns life will take, the roads we'll travel down. Or who we'll end up traveling down those roads with. _

Of all of them, Guy had changed the least, thought Robin. He looked, at forty-five, much as he had at thirty-five, when he'd married Meg. A few lines had etched deeper into the hawk-like features, and a sprinkling of grey was visible in the dark mane of hair, but his back was still straight and his broad shoulders unbowed.

He had lost none of his skill with a sword, nor the power of his presence. He still turned heads when he walked into a room. His deep voice and icy stare demanded, and received, respect. Some people liked him, others feared and hated him even yet, but none were ever wholly indifferent to Sir Guy of Gisborne.

Allan a Dale was as boyish as ever. He walked without a cane now, though he still limped noticeably. Allan seldom walked alone. He always seemed to have a crowd around him when he made the rounds in Locksley, a flock of tow-headed, noisy boys and girls who adored their fun-loving papa. Allan's clan was constantly growing with new additions, as his wife Catherine produced babies on an amazingly regular basis. Already there were five little a Dales, with another on the way.

_His legs might be crippled,_ thought Robin, _but there's nothing wrong with his—_

"What can I get for you gentlemen?" asked the serving maid. Her wide, coquettish smile was aimed mostly at Guy.

_Of all the men in the tavern to make eyes at, it would be Guy—tall, dark, handsome, and brooding Guy. But her smile, however inviting it __may be, is wasted on him._

Guy was the exception to everything Robin had been lead to believe about good-looking men. No roving eye, no flirting with every female in sight for him. He was as loyal in love as he was in friendship. For many years Marian had been the focus of his all-consuming passion, until he, Robin, had put a decided end to that. Meg was now the fortunate recipient of Guy's love and loyalty.

Allan was not above flirting, however, and the maid soon shifted her attention to someone who would return it. Between the giggles and blushes on her side, and the jokes and grins on his, the men placed their order for food.

_It's a good thing Cate isn't the jealous type, or she'd smack him one,_ thought Robin. _I should talk, though. How long will it be before I get truly comfortable with the idea of Marian and I living next door to Guy? How does Meg deal with it? She knows all about Guy and Marian's history together, but it never seems to bother her. Perhaps I need to learn a lesson from her and not let it bother me, either._

After the maid set tankards of ale in front of them, and sashayed off to the kitchen, Guy and Allan fell to discussing young Rodger's riding lessons. Robin let his mind wander back to the events surrounding their arrest and imprisonment by King John.

On just such a cold, snowy day as this one, the king's elite guards had arrived without warning in Locksley, and lead him and Guy away in shackles, in front of their wives, their children, and the rest of the villagers. Thereafter they had spent four wretched months together in prison.

_Gisborne and I have been friends, of one sort or another, since that memorable day when we threw Prince John down the well in Nottingham_ _Castle. Long ago, when I hated the very sight of him, I might have said, "Of all the people to be stuck in prison with, it would be Gisborne!" But looking back, I couldn't have asked for anyone better. _

_We could do nothing but stare at the walls and each other, and wait, and wonder what King John would do with us. Yes, we had our fun with the prince, but we paid for it many times over. Indifferent and infrequent meals, dirty straw, no way to bathe or wash our clothes unless we pleaded with the guards to take pity on us. Cold and dark most of the time. _

_What if I had been locked up with Much? He'd have driven me 'round __the bend with his chatter and his complaining. Allan? His jokes would have worn thin in short order. Little John? I'd have ended up talking to myself just to hear the sound of a human voice! _

_With me and Guy, it was team up and help each other to survive, or kill each other. After a week cooped up in that dark pit, Guy lost control. He ranted and screamed and pounded the walls and the bars of our cell until his hands were bloody. I held him and did my best to comfort him after he fell on his knees and sobbed in utter despair. The next day it was my turn to lose all hope, and his turn to comfort me._

_We shared our meals and nursed each other through illness. To keep our sanity, we talked. For hours we reminisced about our childhoods. We spoke of our worries and our fears for our wives and children. We admitted, reluctantly, to our own fear of death. We found out how much alike we were in ways we never imagined. We grew closer than ever before, because we only had each other._

_Then Tuck came to see us, and what a friend he proved to be! He relayed messages for us to family and friends who were forbidden to see us, and he worked tirelessly to get us released. He reminded King John that he was not popular in some quarters. If he were to disregard the pact he'd signed and the promise he'd made to his brother Richard, and go ahead with his plans to execute myself and Guy, there would be trouble, possibly even open rebellion, from the people of Nottingham, and he didn't need any more trouble than he already had to deal with. Tuck saved our lives, I've no doubt, and risked his own neck while doing it._

_Archer, too, proved his courage and his loyalty to us. I wasn't happy with my brother when I found out he'd agreed to work as a private guard for King John after Richard's death. But I understand him now. He did what he had to do. He's a born survivor. Like Guy. Ever the pragmatists, both of them. They accept the world as it is, and their place in it. _

_Has some of that rubbed off on me? Here I am, forty years old, my youth behind me, and many of my ideals in the past, too. All those years that I followed and supported King Richard, believing that he was the saviour of England, and where is he now? He hardly spent any time in England, and now he's dead. I once railed against Guy for blindly following Vaisey, but I did the same thing for a king who disappointed so many._

_After I was arrested, all I wanted was to return to Locksley, to be with Marian and Eleanor. Time was when I would have championed my ideals, stood up against the tyrant, defied King John, and faced the __consequences._

_What did I do instead? I reasoned, I argued, I bargained with him, and finally I even begged to be allowed to go back home. Guy laughed when he found out, because he did the same himself when he was brought before King John. We both stood to lose so much that was precious to us, so we did what we had to do to survive. _

_Perhaps Guy is right after all. "Do what you can here," he tells me, "Help the people of Nottingham_ _if it makes you feel better, and stop trying to save the whole of England. You're just one man, so accept that and be satisfied."_

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Their meal arrived, and as soon as the maid ceased her flirtations with Allan and her sidelong glances at Robin and Guy, they dove into the meat pies and the crusty loaves of bread. Allan gobbled it all down with messy fingers, but Guy ate slowly, with the restraint and gentlemanly manners of his upbringing. Robin smiled.

_Guy. As much as I know and understand him now, he's still an enigma to me in many ways. _

_I remember the night the guard took our blankets away because he "complained too much" over our meager meal. He raged at the top of his lungs at that guard, calling him every name he could think of, until I reminded him that it probably wasn't a good idea—we might get worse treatment if we made too much of a fuss. _

_We must have laid in that damp straw in our cell for an hour, tossing and turning and miserable, until Guy suddenly rolled over and pressed the length of his body against my back. I was startled and began to pull away, but he snickered, yanked me back over to him, and threw a restraining arm across my shoulders. _

"_Relax," he said to me. "Look, it's freezing in here without our blankets, so we might as well try to keep each other warm. I'll warm your back first, since I got us into this, and then you can return the favour. Do we have a deal?" _

"_Well, okay, sure, why not?" I answered him. "It beats freezing to death." _

_He wedged his thighs up under mine, and draped his arm across my chest. I instantly felt warmer. Not sure if it was because of Guy's body __heat or my own embarrassment, but the warmth was very welcome nonetheless. _

_In the Holy Land_ _I'd often slept cheek by jowl in a tent crammed full of other men, huddled together to keep each other warm on those cold desert nights. If it wasn't Much by my side, it was some other man, friend or stranger. I supposed that this was no different. If it meant survival, so be it. Guy didn't seem discomfited at all by the intimacy. _

_We were silent for a moment, and then Guy's voice sounded near my ear. _

"_This doesn't mean that I like you, Locksley, so don't get any funny ideas during the night." _

_I couldn't help but laugh. "You, either," I said._

"_Not to worry," Guy replied. "You're a bit bony for my taste, anyway." _

_I finally began to relax. I found it comforting, after the initial awkwardness, to have a warm body pressed up against me and an arm over my chilly shoulders, even if that warm body belonged to Guy of Gisborne. Just before dropping off, a thought came to me. _

"_I wonder what Vaisey would say if he could see us now!" _

_I had no idea I had voiced my thought aloud, until I heard Guy's laughter rumble against my back. _

"_He'd say we deserved each other," he replied. "Now, go to sleep, Robin." _

_I did as I was told. It was not until awakening hours later that I realized I had never taken my turn at warming Guy. Guy had let me sleep undisturbed. _

_I rolled over, to see Guy, cold and shivering and wide awake and watching me. He mumbled, "You owe me one." And then came his smile, the smile of a true and caring friend. _

_What an amazing man. Screaming in a towering fury at the guard one minute, making ribald jokes the next. The same man who would have killed me, with pleasure, only a few short years earlier suffered willingly all night to keep me warm instead. What a complicated, unfathomable, impossible man!_

As they finished their meal, Robin looked over at Guy, and wondered if he remembered that night, too.

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Allan left them, after they ate their meal and drank another round of ale, to catch up with some friends and try out a new tavern game trick he'd learned. Robin and Guy shook their heads at the loud shouts and guffaws coming from the other end of the room.

"Are we going to rescue him if he gets into trouble?" asked Robin, as he and Guy sat at a game of chess.

"It wouldn't be the first time he's gotten himself into trouble cheating the other patrons out of their money with his underhanded tavern tricks."

Guy thought back to his first acquaintance with Allan, and a certain "_Gotcha!"_ moment. "He's on his own this time," he added.

He looked up at Robin and smiled. "And you're not paying attention to the game, my friend, so it's checkmate for you."

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The innkeeper had already told them that The Trip was crowded due to the unexpected storm, so they had to take what they could get as far as a room for the night. Allan grumbled under his breath as they ascended the stairs behind him later that evening.

"Let's just hope we don't end up in the honeymoon room," he said. "Fancy all of us, in one bed."

Robin laughed. "If it's the honeymoon room, Allan, at least it'll be a big bed."

"Not bein' funny, gents, but if we have to share a bed, can I at least not be the one in the middle?"

"What's wrong with the middle?" said Guy. "It's the warmest spot."

"Yeah, but Robin snores."

"I do not!"

"Yeah, you do, and loud, too. Guy, I don't know what you do in your sleep, but I don't want to find out."

"What's the matter, Allan?" said Guy with a lecherous smirk. "Afraid I might mistake you for Meg in the wee hours?"

"You just stay over on your own side! If you so much as put a toe on me, I'll kick you out of bed onto the floor! You too, Robin."

The room they were led to, though small, had a fireplace and several beds.

"Well, that's a relief," said Allan, as he stripped off his shirt and boots, and burrowed under the blankets.

Robin pulled off his own clothes and boots. Guy threw a few more sticks of wood on the fire, and then undressed as well. He climbed into his bed, and looked over at Robin. He gave him a grin before he blew out the candle.

"If Vaisey could see us now, eh, Robin?"

Guy remembered. Oh, yes, he remembered all right. Robin laughed in the darkness, and heard Guy's answering laugh as he settled down in his own bed.

"Go to sleep, Guy. And, pleasant dreams, my friend."

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**Author's Note:** A thank you to all the readers and reviewers thus far, I appreciate it very much! Okay, some of you may be thinking, "you listed your story as drama/angst, so where is it?" Not to worry, there's plenty coming up! (this story has Guy as a main character, after all, and Guy and drama/angst go together like peanut butter and jelly) Rodger and Eleanor will be a bit older when we see them next, and you know their parents can't hide all those family "skeletons in the closet" from them forever. There will also be much more of Guy, Robin, Marian, Meg, etc. as well. Stay tuned!


	8. Chapter 8 Growing Up

**GROWING UP**

"Come on, I'll race you!"

"No fair, Eleanor, you got a head start!"

"You'll never beat me by whining, Rodger!"

Eleanor, as fleet-footed as a young deer, her long hair streaming out behind her, ran through the tall grass of the meadow toward the orchard at the edge of Locksley village. Rodger followed close on her heels, but she reached the orchard first.

"Beat you again!"

"Only because you cheated!"

"No, I'm faster than you. I've always been faster than you!"

"Not for long, Eleanor. I'm going to be bigger than you very soon, you just wait."

She only grinned at him, picked up a fallen apple, and lobbed it at his head. A year ago she might have hit him with it, but not now. Father had finally consented to give him lessons in swordsmanship, and they practiced nearly every day. He'd learned how to swing a sword, but just as importantly, he'd learned how to duck out of the way.

"Missed me!" he laughed. He picked up an apple and threw it at her. It missed her by a mile, and it was Eleanor's turn to laugh. Okay, so he needed to work on his aim. Eleanor had better aim, there was no denying it. She could still beat him shooting targets with her bow. So what? Swordfighting was more fun anyway.

Mother didn't entirely approve of Father's training sessions. She said Father was too hard on him, but he liked the challenge. If it meant he went to bed at night with calloused hands and aching muscles and bruises all over him, so be it. Someday he'd be strong enough to handle Father's long, heavy sword. That day was coming closer all the time, because in a couple of weeks he would be twelve years old.

Twelve! That number seemed magical somehow. Eleanor was already twelve, going on thirteen. Their birthdays were one year and ten days apart. Eleanor would always be older than him, of course, but Mother had just measured him against the door frame of his bedroom at home, and he'd grown two inches in the last year.

"You're outgrowing all your clothes again, Rodger," Mother had said proudly. "You'll be as tall as your father someday."

Those words had thrilled him! There was nothing he wanted more than to be like Father. People were forever telling him that he looked like his father. He wanted to be as tall and strong as him, too.

Eleanor reached for another apple just as Rodger did, and their heads nearly bumped. They stood up and faced each other.

For as long as Eleanor could remember she'd been taller than Rodger, but with a sudden and startling realization she saw that they were now the same height. The curls of his childhood had relaxed into waves, thick and dark, that swept back from his face and fell nearly to his shoulders. His strong features were no longer those of a young boy. And he was looking her squarely in the eye.

A gust of wind blew a lock of hair across his forehead, and as he brushed it aside she saw the flash of blue from under the dark brows. When he was angry, his eyes were pale as ice, but now, as his scowl softened to a smile, they were as warm and brilliant as the autumn sky over their heads. She decided then and there that she liked Rodger's eyes. Rodger was like Uncle Guy—he didn't smile much. But when he did, he had a nice smile, and she decided she liked that about him, too.

In recent weeks she had begun to experience a new self-consciousness around boys. Her onetime companions, Matthew and Roddy and Gregory, the smith's sons, acted differently around her now. They didn't rough-house with her anymore. Instead, they labeled her the "little lady of the manor", and teased her about her torn dresses and wild hair. They no longer wanted to play "Sheriff and outlaws". They were more interested in apprenticing in their father's blacksmith business than in running about Locksley playing games.

Only Rodger had stuck with her. He'd been her companion as well as the one she picked on and argued with, and she was glad he was still her friend. She didn't feel funny around him, at least. Rodger was just Rodger. He was like a brother to her, the brother she'd always wanted. Mama had been an only child, and Papa, too. Was that why she didn't have a brother or sister like Rodger did? No, that made no sense. But still, for some reason she was the only child of her parents, and no one would explain why.

Rodger bent over, picked up more apples, and stuffed them into his coat.

"You're supposed to throw those at me, numbwit, not put them in your pockets!"

"I'm bringing some to Prancer," he told her.

"If you give him too many he'll get a bellyache," she warned.

"I'm only giving him two or three," he replied. "The rest are for us."

"You do know that Prancer's way too small for you now."

"Of course I do! I'm not going to ride him! He's too old to be ridden anymore. He's out in the pasture with Starlight and Father's horse. I promised him I'd bring him some apples as soon as they were ripe, and I keep my promises."

He strode off toward the pasture beyond the orchard. Eleanor followed him.

"You fuss more over that silly old pony," she teased. "Making a promise to him as if he understands you."

"He does understand me."

Rodger climbed over the fence and made his way toward the part of the pasture where Prancer liked to graze.

"There he is," he said to Eleanor. He laughed. "Look, he's lying down. We caught him sleeping, old lazybones!"

The mound of Prancer's stomach stuck up out of the grass. It wasn't until they were nearly upon him that they could see the rest of him. His head lay flat on the ground, and his stubby legs were curled against his body.

"Hey, Prancer, wake up, old boy! Come on, I've got some apples for you!"

The pony didn't move.

"He must be really fast asleep," said Eleanor. "Don't scare him."

"I won't. Come on, Prancer, wake up, or Starlight will get all your apples!"

He gave the pony a nudge with his foot.

"Rodger—"

Eleanor saw that Prancer's eyes were slightly open. There was a strange, dull film over them. The tip of his tongue lolled from the corner of his mouth. He lay very still.

"Rodger—I think he'd dead."

Rodger's head whipped around, and the blue eyes were like ice once again. He shouted at her. "Shut up, Eleanor! Don't even say that, it's not funny! No, he's just asleep! Come on, Prancer, get up!"

He knelt down next to the pony and shook his mane.

"Rodger, he's dead, I'm telling you. Look, his sides aren't moving."

"He can't be! He was fine this morning. I took him out here early this morning and he was fine!" He screamed the words at her.

Eleanor bent down over the pony and peered carefully at him. The pony looked so small, and pitifully frail and old lying there in the tall grass. Despite Rodger's denial, she knew he was dead. She'd seen dead animals before.

"Rodger, come on, let's go home. We'll get your father, or Reggie—"

"No, he can't be! No, not Prancer!"

She looked around for help, and saw Reggie and a couple of other farmhands some distance away.

"Oi! Reggie! Come here, quick!"

He saw them and waved, and walked across the field toward them.

"What'ya doin' out here, children?" he asked, his face alight with his friendly smile. Then he saw the motionless pony and the distraught face of his owner. "What's this? Oh—"

He bent down and looked the pony over, and then slowly stood up.

"What's wrong with him?" cried Rodger. "He's okay, isn't he? He'll be okay, right, Reggie?"

Reggie ran his hand over his face. _Oh, dear God, why do I have to be the one? But the lad has to be told, there's no way 'round it._

"Rodger, Prancer's dead," he said as gently as he could. "Looks like he died in his sleep," he added, half to himself. "He must've just went off to sleep and didn't wake up."

Rodger's cry strangled in his throat. His wide open eyes stared at Reggie and Eleanor. Then he abruptly turned from them and ran across the field toward the village.

"Should I go with him?" Eleanor asked in a low voice.

"No, best to leave him be, lass. Would you be a good girl and stay here? I'll go and find Sir Guy."

Reggie was halfway to Gisborne Hall when Guy met him. Rodger had already told his father. Then he had collapsed, sobbing, into his mother's arms.

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"How old do you suppose he was, Reg?"

"Oh, I'd say well over twenty, sir, closer to thirty, maybe. He'd been goin' downhill for a while, off his feed, you know. Just slept away at the end."

Guy smiled faintly. "We should all meet such a peaceful end."

"What do you want done with him, sir?"

Reggie knew what would become of Prancer if he were the pony of one of the villagers. He'd be cut up for dog meat. Some might even feed the meat to their families, though there was little left on the pony's shrunken frame that was appetizing or even edible. Hungry peasants couldn't afford to be sentimental about their animals, however, or too particular about their tastes.

But somehow the idea of cutting into the little pony's body, lifeless though it was, troubled Reggie. Prancer had been Rodger's beloved childhood pet as well as his mount. He hoped Sir Guy wouldn't ask him to do it. When Guy didn't reply, but just continued to stare down silently at the dead pony, he spoke again.

"Would you like me to have him hauled into the woods, sir? The foxes and crows would clean him up in no time at all."

Guy slowly raised his head and looked at Reggie.

"No. I want him buried, Reg."

Reggie raised his brows in surprise. No one buried horses. Even nobles didn't bury horses.

"Bury him. You and a couple of the other men. Dig a good deep hole. Right here, where he died."

He turned away and started for the village. Reggie followed him. He dreaded the back-breaking work ahead. Prancer was small, but they'd still need to dig quite a big hole. But Sir Guy was his lord and employer. He sighed, and considered the men he could ask to help him. They'd probably laugh at the request, behind Gisborne's back. As long as they didn't laugh in front of Rodger, he didn't care.

Guy suddenly stopped, and looked back at Reggie.

"I'll help you," Guy said. "Let's get another man and some shovels."

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"Did he suffer, Mother? I could almost bear it if I knew he didn't suffer."

Rodger lay on his bed and looked up at his mother with eyes that were swollen and dry from crying.

"I'm sure he didn't, darling. Reggie told you and your father that Prancer just fell asleep. He didn't feel any pain."

"I didn't think when I brought him out to the pasture this morning that he'd be—" Rodger couldn't bring himself to say the word.

"I know, Rodger. But he was a very old pony."

"I guess I never thought about him dying."

"It's hard, I know, but some day it won't hurt as much as it does right now. Prancer had a good long life, Rodger. Think about that. He was happy. When he died he was out in the pasture in his favourite spot, out there with the other horses on a beautiful day. Isn't that a good thing to remember?"

Rodger thought about this, and despite the terrible ache in his heart, it did make him feel a little better. Mother understood. She understood everything.

"Rodger, your father and Reggie buried Prancer, right where he died, did you know that?"

He was silent for a moment. "I should have helped him," he murmured.

"He didn't want you to, Rodger. He wanted to do that for you. He loves you very much. Don't ever forget that, no matter what happens."

_No matter what happens?_ He didn't know what she meant by that, but he looked back up at her and slowly nodded.

_Yes,_ she thought, as she smoothed her son's tousled black hair off his brow, _he'll need to remember that and hang on to it in the years ahead, to remember how much we both love him. There will be more, much more that he'll have to face __very soon. There's so much he doesn't know yet, about the past, about his father…. _

"Do Aunt Marian and Uncle Robin know?"

"Yes, Eleanor told them. They were both very sorry. And Eleanor's been back here since to see you."

"Mother, I don't want to see her. She'll just laugh at me."

"She's gone home, dear. She said she'd see you tomorrow."

She bent down and kissed him. "And she won't laugh at you, you'll see."

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Rodger walked out to the pasture the next morning, to Prancer's favourite place near the stream and a stand of trees. A low pile of freshly turned dirt was all that was left to see.

He still had Prancer's apples. He reached into his pockets and pulled them out. One by one he dropped them on the grave.

He turned when he heard someone walking toward him. It was Eleanor. She held a handful of flowers picked from the meadow.

"Hello, Rodger. I thought you might be here. Are you okay?"

"I guess so."

"I'm sorry. I'm really sorry."

"Thanks."

She stepped forward and placed the flowers on the grave. Rodger smiled. "Thank you," he said again.

After a moment, Eleanor put her arm around Rodger's shoulder and gave him a hug. It wasn't like her, because she wasn't affectionate, especially not with him. The other boys would tease him if they saw it. But he didn't mind. It felt good, and no one else was around to see, anyway. Maybe she wasn't going to laugh at him after all.

A gentle autumn breeze rippled over the grass and the leaves of the trees, and the nearby stream gurgled and splashed over its pebbly bed. It was a tranquil place, that corner of the pasture, and it comforted him when he thought of Prancer lying there, at rest after a long and contented life. Next spring the grass and flowers would grow on the mound of dirt and cover it and hide it from sight. Someday he might even forget where his old pony was buried. But he knew he would keep the good and happy memories of Prancer with him always.

Rodger and Eleanor stood side by side at the little pony's grave. His hand reached for hers, and she didn't pull away. She took his hand and held it tight. He looked over at her gratefully. Mother and Father understood, but he saw that Eleanor did, too, and he felt at peace.


	9. Chapter 9 Secrets Kept

**SECRETS KEPT….**

Rodger was three months past his twelfth birthday. He and his family traveled into Nottingham one chilly late fall morning, to go to the marketplace and visit with Grandfather. Mother rode next to Father, and Rodger beside Richard. His brother held Ghislaine on his saddle in front of him. She flailed about playfully, and Mother cried, "Be careful of her, Richard! Don't let her fall!" but Rodger wasn't worried. Richard was a very responsible older brother. He wouldn't let his sister fall off. Even if she did, she wouldn't fall very far, because Richard's pony Sam was not much bigger than Prancer.

Ghislaine could ride with him, he supposed, but Starlight was high-spirited, and quite as much as he could handle without a squirmy little sister in the saddle with him. She was only four years old. He didn't want to take the chance that she might get hurt. Sam, on the other hand, was a steady, jolly little fellow, much like Prancer had been. Ghislaine was perfectly safe on his back.

The overwhelming grief Rodger had first felt at Prancer's death had eased somewhat, and he could remember him now without tears. As he'd grown older he'd seen that everyone suffered loss, everyone grieved. It was part of life, and part of growing up. If it wasn't a pet that one grieved for, it was a friend, a brother or sister, or a parent.

Mother had lost her own mother when she was young, and her older brother as well. Father's parents had died in a fire long ago, in a house on the same spot where they now lived. Father never talked about them or his sister Isabella, at least not in front of Rodger. Rodger often wondered how Father felt about these people whose names never crossed his lips. Did he still grieve for them, or was it true what Mother said, that time healed all wounds, or at least made them easier to bear?

He wished he knew more about his parents. Mother would tell him stories about her childhood and her memories of her mother and brother, happy stories for the most part, but Father was silent about his past. When Rodger asked him questions, he changed the subject. Rodger's curiosity about certain mysteries thus remained unsatisfied. Intriguing mysteries, such as those surrounding the former Sheriff Vaisey, whose name was never mentioned by the residents of Locksley without a shudder. What was this man's connection to his father? Was he the reason why some people didn't like his father? For years, he'd heard bits of whispered conversations about the matter, but when he asked openly, no one would tell him.

They reached Grandfather Wallace's house on the outskirts of Nottingham. Mother and Richard and Ghislaine were greeted at the door by Grandfather and his wife, and welcomed inside while a servant led their horses to the stable. Rodger and his father waved goodbye, and continued on their way to the marketplace. They would meet back later to have supper together.

Father and son rode down Nottingham's busy main street, lined with shops and market stalls. Rodger was very conscious of his handsome new set of clothes as they did so. His outer tunic, belted at the waist, was of fine black wool, embroidered at the neck and cuffs with silver threads. He also wore his new boots, tall black leather boots just like Father's.

The Gisbornes always had beautiful clothes, well-made and well-fitted, because Grandfather was a successful cloth merchant who provided generously for his only daughter's family. If the other village boys, dressed in the worn, colourless hand-me-downs and cast-off garments of their fathers, looked upon him with envy, he was careful to make light of his attire. Mother, he knew, would never approve of vanity. She did her part to help the poorest villagers in Locksley by providing them with clothing for their families. She did so quietly and without fanfare, and Rodger, and his father, were rightly proud of her for it.

But with his twelfth birthday had come a new awareness of his appearance. He couldn't help but feel a measure of forbidden pride when the townspeople turned admiring glances toward him and his father, wearing their fine clothes and riding their beautiful horses as they made their way down the street. He and Father always seemed to have these experiences when they rode together into Nottingham. People watched them. From some came nods of acknowledgment and respect, from others even an amicable smile.

Occasionally, however, they were the recipients of a hostile glare, and today was one of those days.

A young man and a boy stood together at the front entrance of a shop, and stared, with unfriendly eyes, at him and his father as they passed. Why? They were just riding their horses down the street on market day, among the throngs of buyers and sellers.

"Father, why is that man looking at us?"

"What man?"

"There, in the doorway of the shop we just passed. See? There's a boy standing next to him."

"You can't stop people from staring if they want to, Rodger. Just ignore them if it bothers you."

Rodger turned around and looked straight ahead, as Father did, but he felt as if the two pairs of eyes were now boring into his back. He forced himself not to look around at them again, in case they were still watching.

"Don't wander too far, Rodger," Father said as they pulled up in front of a business, dismounted, and tied their horses. "I won't be very long."

He gave Rodger a smile, and briefly reached toward him and laid his hand on his shoulder. Rodger smiled shyly back, and thought of Eleanor. She and her father were the best of friends. Why couldn't he have such an easy, comfortable relationship with his father?

At least Father had finally stopped whipping him for misbehaviour. Not that the other boys in the village weren't whipped by their fathers. Oh, no. Some of them even boasted about how they endured it without a whimper, or declared that someday they were going to wrestle that stick out of their father's hand and break it—you'd see if they didn't!

Rodger was certain they were just bragging. He knew the friends of his childhood too well not to know that they were every bit as scared of their fathers as he was of his own father. He only wished he could laugh it off afterward as they did, but every experience at the end of Father's belt, even if it was, in hindsight, admittedly deserved, had been an agony of humiliation. Eleanor had her own grounds for bragging. Her parents had never whipped her for anything, so she had nothing to fear from her father and was free to be chummy with him.

Though the physical punishments had ceased, Father remained stern and hard to please. It was impossible to imagine ever joking and laughing with him as Eleanor did with Uncle Robin. But when Father's approval rested upon him as it did now, and it showed in his smile and his strong hand gently touching his son's shoulder, it meant everything to Rodger.

Guy disappeared into the leather worker's shop to pick up his new coat, leaving Rodger to explore the other shops and stalls in Nottingham's busy main street. So much to see and hear and smell! It was a delightfully grown-up feeling, too, to be allowed to walk around on his own without Father and Mother, or his younger brother and sister tagging along.

He went from stall to stall, but not without purpose. He hadn't told Father that he was looking for a gift for Mother. A dismal cloud of guilt from those broken vases still hung over his head, even though it had happened years ago when he'd been a child. Well, he wasn't a foolish little boy anymore. He was much older and wiser now, and eager to get Mother a truly special gift.

He came upon a jeweler's stall. Mother liked necklaces. Perhaps a new necklace for her? He fingered some necklaces that were far too expensive for the small amount of money he carried, and sighed. Maybe Father could help him out a bit. He stepped away from the stall, and looked back to see if Father was out of the shop. Instead, to his surprise, he found himself looking straight into the face of the scowling boy from the doorway.

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Guy shrugged into the new leather coat and flexed his shoulders.

"Fits good," he told the shopkeeper. He checked his reflection in the mirror.

"Any alterations, Sir Guy?"

"No, this will do nicely. My compliments to the tailor."

"Thank you, sir. I will let him know."

The man beamed happily. People could say what they liked about Sir Guy of Gisborne, but he had been one of his best customers for many years, and it gave him great satisfaction to fit his creations on a man who wore them so well.

Besides, Sir Guy was unfailingly polite to him now. Gone were the days when he simply flung his payment on the counter and stalked out of the shop with his purchase. Or worse, exploded in angry threats of serious bodily harm if his order wasn't ready on time.

He'd made clothes for Sheriff Vaisey, too, once upon a harrowing time. Now, there was a customer whom no one in his workshop was sorry to see dead and buried!

Guy paid for his coat, and went outside to his horse. Unobtrusively, he pulled out the two knives secreted away in his old coat, and slipped them inside the hidden pockets of the new.

He never left home unarmed. No one knew that he carried a concealed dagger or two with him whenever he went into Nottingham, though he sensed that Meg, and possibly Robin, suspected as much.

Both Robin and Meg had demonstrated a remarkably uncanny knack for reading his thoughts. But they also understood how uneasy he felt every time he went in public. If they were aware of the daggers in his coat, they said nothing of it.

Walking around with his sword on his hip was just asking for trouble, but the smaller and well-hidden weapons gave him a sense of security. They were easy to reach if, God forbid, he ever needed to defend himself. He wore his heavy leather coats in town, whatever the weather, for the same reason. He couldn't walk around Nottingham dressed in a mail shirt and helmet, but he wore the next best thing whenever he left his house in Locksley.

Years ago, when he'd been Vaisey's hated and feared lieutenant, his coats had been designed with extra padding in certain places. He hadn't been able to keep many secrets from Vaisey, but this was one he did keep. In that final swordfight with the former Sheriff, Vaisey's blade had cut through the leather and the padding, and gouged his skin, but went no deeper. He had a long scar across his chest to remind him, but the coat had saved his life.

Since then he had upped his protection even further. The tailor cleverly hid a light and flexible barrier of chain mail between the lining of the coats and the thick leather shell, which made his coats strong enough to turn the blade of all but the most determined assassin. The extra expense was worth it to Guy for the peace of mind.

He had promised Meg solemnly, on the night she agreed to marry him, not to lose his temper and resort to violence, and so far he had lived up to his promise. The malignant stares from some of the townspeople provoked him, but he had his children to think of. Especially did he think of Rodger, who watched and imitated his every action. He didn't want his son to follow down the same dark path that had nearly destroyed him and everyone he cared for.

Having secured the knives in his new coat, he untied their horses and started down the market street to look for his son.

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"Hello," said Rodger politely.

The boy didn't answer him. He was younger than Rodger, fair-haired, with a round face and snub nose, and bright blue eyes that might have been friendly and pleasant if he were smiling. Instead, his expression was decidedly hostile. Rodger felt his own face begin to flush under the boy's penetrating stare.

"Did you want something?" Rodger asked when the silence became unnerving.

The boy stepped closer to him.

"You're Guy of Gisborne's son, aren't you?"

The boys in Locksley village teased him on occasion, but it was good-natured ribbing for the most part. They liked him. This boy, however, this stranger, did not. There was something hatefully repellant staring out from the Nottingham boy's eyes that Rodger had never encountered before. Almost unconsciously, he backed away a couple of steps.

"Yes, I am. My name's Rodger of Gisborne. Why do you ask?"

The boy leaned in toward him and spat the words into his face. "Did you know your father's a murderer?"


	10. Chapter 10 Secrets Revealed

**SECRETS REVEALED**

"Look how tall you're getting! How old are you now, Richard?"

"Grandfather, you know how old I am! I'm nine!"

"Nine? I don't believe it. You can't be."

Richard laughed. "I am, and Rodger's twelve, and Ghislaine's four. But I don't know how old Mother and Father are."

"Let's not talk about that," said Meg, as she gave her father and his wife Jane a smile and a wink.

Richard was indisputably her father's favourite grandchild, and she could understand his appeal. Richard was her easy-going, sunny-natured child. He was tall and slim, all long arms and legs, brown-haired and brown-eyed, with a warm smile and infectious laugh. And he simply adored his grandfather.

"The little businessman", her father called him. No grandiose dreams of high adventure for Richard. He loved nothing better than to spend the day in Grandfather's shop, greeting the customers and fetching orders. He had all of Guy's charisma without his dark temper, which never failed to charm female shoppers of all ages.

Her father didn't warm up to Rodger as easily as he did to his younger brother. Perhaps, Meg thought, it was because Rodger looked so much like Guy, and had much of the same inscrutable disposition.

Her relationship with her father had been quite strained for a time after her marriage to Guy. He had been very displeased with his daughter's engagement to "the most notorious man in Nottinghamshire", as he rather ungraciously called Guy when he got the news, and the marriage finally had to take place without his full approval and consent.

Jane had proved a true ally and friend to her stepdaughter, however. She made much of Guy whenever he came to the house, and went out of her way to make him feel comfortable and welcome in their family.

The arrival of the first grandchild had eased the tension considerably, especially when her father saw how ecstatic Guy was over his firstborn son. When she gave birth to Richard, while Guy was in prison, her father and Jane had been at Gisborne Hall nearly every day to offer support.

Since those difficult days, Richard had remained her father's pet. He and his wife had no children of their own, and so Richard had taken the place of the son her father lost in death along with his first wife. They even shared the same name.

_My brother Richard was about this same age,_ thought Meg, _when he died of a fever. Our mother followed him only a few days later. I don't know how my father and I got through it, but somehow we did, though life was never the same afterward. It's only now, all these years later, that we are happy again as a family—he with Jane, me with Guy and our children._

_At least it was easy for us to pick a name for our second-born son. I wanted to name him after my brother Richard, and Guy wanted to name a son after King Richard, in gratitude and respect for the memory of the king who spared his life and pardoned him. _

_We compromised on our daughter's name. Ghislaine, for Guy's mother, and her middle name Elisabeth, for my mother. I'm thankful he didn't insist on naming her Isabella._

Meg watched as Richard and Ghislaine unwrapped the new toys that Jane had bought for them, and smiled at their squeals of delight. Her stepmother had fallen very naturally into the role of grandmother, and delighted to spoil the children with gifts and special attention. She had a gift for Rodger, too, but he wasn't there to receive it.

"They should be back very soon," said Meg, to her father's concerned inquiries. She sat Ghislaine, clutching tight to her new doll, on her lap. "Rodger's looking forward to supper because you ordered his favourite meal. He wouldn't miss that for anything. Growing boys and their appetites, you know."

_Guy's in town to pick up a coat, _she thought, _and Rodger went with him because he loves to be with his father. He wants to be just like him—to dress like him, walk like him, adopt his mannerisms. He's so thrilled over those new boots of his. He'll outgrow them in less than a year, very likely, but Guy wanted his boy to have them anyway. _

_I'm glad that Rodger is with him. It eases my fears when one of us accompanies him into town. There's less chance for trouble when he has his wife and children beside him. I know he carries a weapon. He probably thinks I don't know about it, but I do. I can't stop him from carrying one, I just hope he's never tempted to use it._

_Why does he think he has to hide things from me? Silly man. I always find out anyway, he should know that by now. But I'm more concerned about the things he hides from Rodger. _

_I'm one to talk, though. I hide things from our children, too. I tell Rodger and Richard stories about my childhood, but not the truth of how it really was. _

_How can I tell them that my world fell apart when my mother and brother died? How can I explain to them that the grandfather they love wasn't there for me when I needed him, that he was too wrapped up in his own grief to comfort his surviving child? He left me to the care of my nurse and the housemaids. When I went to him, unable to understand why my mother and brother were gone, he pushed me away. I grew up believing that he wished I'd died instead of my brother. I know now it wasn't true. It was unfair to think such a terrible thing of him, but that's how I felt as a child._

_I tried to fill my mother's shoes, but he didn't want a dutiful daughter to look after him, he wanted a wife. He made that promise to my dying mother not to marry again until I was married. He kept his promise for many years, but it angered him. He couldn't wait for me to be old enough so he could pawn me off on the first eligible bachelor who made his interest known. _

_I fought against his scheme tooth and nail. How I fought against him! I'm so glad of it now. I won. In the end, I married the man that I chose for myself, even though that man was one my father could not at first accept. _

_We've made our peace with each other now, my father and I, and he's accepted Guy as much as he can. He'll never be truly happy that Guy is my husband, but Guy knows that, and he's accepted it as well. He's made his own peace with it, as he has with many other things he can't change._

_Guy can't change his past, the things he's done that he regrets, but he can't go on forever pretending those things never happened, either. Our son has to be told the truth sooner or later, or he'll hear it from other people. Better to learn the truth from his father than from a stranger. _

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"Did you know your father's a murderer?"

Rodger was so shocked that he couldn't move or speak.

"He killed my grandfather. My father told me he did."

Rodger drew his breath in with a gasp, and found his voice. "I don't know what you're talking about! My father never killed anyone!"

"He did so," the boy continued. "Your father worked for the old Sheriff, Vaisey. Ever heard of him?"

Vaisey. Yes, he'd heard of him, many times. But what did this have to do with his father killing someone? Killing someone? Never! Impossible!

Rodger slowly nodded. "I've heard of him."

"He killed lots of people, and your father helped him do it. Ever heard of the Treeton Mine?"

Rodger nodded again. His father had taken him past that mine one day, and warned him to be careful of the pits in the ground that he could fall into. It was all closed up now, deserted, and had been for years, many years, long before he was born.

"My father took me there. He told me it collapsed, and no one works there anymore."

"It didn't collapse. Your father's a liar and a murderer both! Robin Hood and his men blew it up to keep any more miners from being killed!"

Rodger stared at him. Uncle Robin blew up the mine? With Allan, and Little John, and the others?

"My grandfather was a miner," the boy continued. "The mines weren't safe, and he told them so. A whole bunch of men got killed that day, so he told Sheriff Vaisey and your father that the miners were on strike. Vaisey told your father to kill my grandfather, so he did. Stuck a knife in him right in front of everyone. My father was there and saw it."

Rodger moved away from him. "You're—you're crazy! You've got the wrong person! I don't know what you're talking about, but my father never killed anyone!"

The boy stepped forward and pushed him in the chest. He was smaller than Rodger, but quite strong, and the blow was painful.

"He did so, sissy boy! Your father killed my grandfather!"

Rodger stumbled back. Father had told him not to fight with other boys, but what was he to do? This boy clearly wanted a fight. He grabbed hold of Rodger's tunic, and as Rodger twisted away from him, the cloth gave way and tore down the front.

What might have happened next, Rodger didn't know, but suddenly, to his relief, his father was there.

"What's this? What's going on?"

"He hit me!" cried the boy.

"No, I didn't!" answered Rodger. "Father, he—"

"Come on, let's go," said Father. He turned back to the boy. "Go on, get out of here! Go home!"

The boy fled, and Rodger and Guy mounted their horses. They were half-way to his grandfather's house before Rodger remembered that he'd never gotten a gift for his mother.

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"Goodness, what happened?" asked his mother when they got to Grandfather's house.

"It was nothing," Rodger muttered.

"Nothing? Your new tunic is all torn!"

"He got in a fight with a boy in the market," Father told her.

"I didn't fight him, Father! He shoved me and tore my shirt. It wasn't my fault. I didn't hit him."

"I know you didn't," his father answered. "I saw that much. But he was angry about something. What did he say to you?"

Rodger could not answer with the truth. He knew the accusation was false, he knew it! It had to be! Father never—

"It wasn't anything, Father. Just a little misunderstanding, that's all."

"That's all?"

"Yes. Please, I don't want to talk about it anymore."

Meg laid her hand on Guy's arm when she saw that he was about to press the matter further.

"Let it drop, Guy. It's over with now, and no one got hurt. The tunic can be mended easily enough. It's just boys being boys."

Rodger sat silently through supper, and picked at his food. His parents and his siblings, and Grandfather Wallace and Grandmother Jane, laughed gaily and ate the delicious meal, but he had no appetite. He watched his father instead. He couldn't take his eyes off his father. His father, who was smiling and chatting amiably with Grandfather as if he hadn't a care in the world.

"_Your father killed my grandfather."_

No! No, there was some mistake! That Nottingham boy had his father mixed up with someone else. He'd heard some wild story about some other man who worked for Vaisey, and was passing it along just to be hateful. Why? He'd never seen the boy before. He hoped he'd never see him again.

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Later, when the family returned to Gisborne Hall, he went up to his room, without saying goodnight to his mother and father, and lay down on his bed.

_This will be over and forgotten by morning, _he told himself. _It's nothing but a bad dream. That boy just wanted to be mean to me. Some people are like that, mean and spiteful for no reason. It's stupid and not worth thinking about. I'm going to forget all about it._

He slipped the torn tunic over his head, and pulled off his new boots, the ones that looked just like Father's. He blew out the bedside candle, and climbed under the covers of his bed. He shut his eyes tight, pulled the blanket over his head, and lay very still, willing himself to sleep.

It was no use. He rolled onto his back and stared up into the darkness, while the strange boy's face, and his words, played over and over in his mind.

"_Your father killed my grandfather. He stuck a knife in him and killed him. He's a murderer, a murderer, a murderer…"_

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><em>**

**Author's Note:** Those of you familiar with the TV series ( I'll assume that's most, if not all, of you!) will undoubtedly recognize elements of one of the episodes in this scene. A hint? Think Season 1, episode 5, "Turk Flu". In the opening scene, there's been an accident at the Sheriff's Treeton Mine. One of the miners, urged on by his teenage son, threatens Gisborne with a strike. An argument ensues. When Sheriff Vaisey arrives, he taunts Guy with the remark "you're giving them choices, Gisborne?" Guy then kills the leader of the strike in front of his son and the other miners (not one of Guy's finer moments, obviously).

The young man from the previous chapter of this story, seen standing in a doorway in the marketplace with a boy beside him, and looking at Guy and Rodger with unfriendly eyes, is that miner's son, Rowan ( as an adult man now), and the unnamed boy that follows Rodger and confronts him here is his son.

Drama and angst, as promised. Stay tuned for more!


	11. Chapter 11 Who's the Nightwatchman?

**"WHO'S THE NIGHTWATCHMAN?"**

"Mama, who was the Nightwatchman?"

"What's that, Eleanor?"

"The Nightwatchman. Who was he?"

"Where did you hear a name like that?"

"From Matthew. He told me there used to be this mysterious man that came around Locksley at night, giving food and medicine to people. Sort of like what Papa and his gang used to do, you know? But he was more secret about it."

"Likely it's just some story, Eleanor. You shouldn't believe everything you hear, especially from the other children."

"I'm not a child, Mama!" said Eleanor indignantly. "And Matthew's older than me. And he heard the story from his father and mother and his uncle Hugh. So it's real, not made up!"

Marian decided to ignore her daughter's saucy attitude for the moment. She was learning, through trial and error, to pick her battles with the girl. Eleanor was thirteen, nearly as tall as her mother, and a bit too sure of herself.

_She's half Robin's offspring, and half mine, _thought Marian. _She's got Robin's cocky self-assurance, and my stubbornness and willful temper._ _What else could I expect from her now that she's growing up and thinks she's not a child anymore? _

_My poor father—this is what he had to deal with from me._ _Now it's my turn. Mine and Robin's._

But Marian's thoughts quickly shifted back to the present. Here was this sudden question, a thorny question fraught with peril, thrown at her out of the blue. _What else has my daughter heard? _

"So, why this interest in this mysterious person?" she asked, with a pretended casualness.

"I'm just curious, I guess. I thought you might know. Maybe Papa's heard of him. Matthew told me something else his father said, but I'm not sure I should tell you."

"What about?" asked Marian, as she fought to keep her voice calm.

"He—I'm not sure if it's true. He said Sir Guy stabbed the Nightwatchman once, but he got away. Does he mean Uncle Guy? Did Uncle Guy stab him? Why?"

Marian felt a jab of pain in her side on hearing her daughter's words. The scar on the lower side of her abdomen, from Guy's nasty little curved knife, paled into insignificance beside the much larger scar left by Vaisey's sword, but small though the wound had seemed at the time, it would have killed her if not for Djaq's doctoring.

Guy still felt terrible about it all these years later. He had apologized to her more times than she could count, even though, of course, he hadn't known it was her when he'd stabbed her. She had forgiven him long ago, as she'd forgiven him for many other things he regretted. He was no longer the same man who had done those things, but how could they explain that to their children?

Marian wished desperately that Robin were there to deal with the situation, but he and Allan were at Bonchurch with Much.

"What do you know about Guy?" she couldn't resist asking.

"Just stuff I hear, Mama. I heard he worked for Sheriff Vaisey. Was Vaisey as bad as they say? Did Uncle Guy really work for him? Mama, he didn't kill people, did he?"

_This is what comes of putting off talking to our children. I told Robin we should have had this talk before now. I can only imagine what Rodger has heard. _

"Eleanor, you haven't talked to Rodger about this, have you?"

"No, not much."

"Not much?"

"Well, he's heard about the Nightwatchman, too, but he doesn't know about his father stabbing him. At least I don't think he does. Did he really stab him? Why would Uncle Guy do that?"

Marian didn't want to lie to her daughter, but she also didn't want to upset Guy and Meg by saying too much. She weighed her words carefully before replying.

"Eleanor, sometimes people think they're doing the right thing. They believe they are upholding the law. But other people feel what they've done is wrong. Guy worked for Vaisey when Vaisey was the Sheriff. That was many years ago, before you were born. It's all different now. But it's hard to explain."

"Oh, oh. Here we go again. Are you going to tell me that I need to wait until I'm older?"

"No, I'm going to say that you need to wait until your father and I talk it over first."

"So, you do know who the Nightwatchman was?"

_There's no fooling her,_ Marian smiled to herself. _Clever girl._

"Yes, I do."

"Then why didn't you just tell me in the first place? Why did you tell me it's a made-up story?"

"I'm sorry, but you have to understand that this is difficult. Can you be patient and wait until your father and I talk first?"

Eleanor sighed. "Yes, Mama. But what about Rodger?"

"Don't say anything to Rodger right now. His father and mother need to talk with him."

"I don't think he wants to talk to me anyway. He's been an awful grump lately. I asked him if he was okay and he told me to leave him alone!"

"We all have bad days. Maybe he didn't feel well."

"All he ever has now is bad days, then. He's not any fun anymore."

"You tease him too much."

"I didn't today, Mama. I was nice to him, honest! And he still yelled at me."

"Leave him be for now, Eleanor. I'll have a talk with his mother."

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"Robin, stop laughing. You're making a joke out of this, but it's not funny!"

"Come on, Marian, don't be a spoilsport. You know it's funny, admit it."

"It would be if it wasn't so serious. What are we going to tell her?"

"Have you said anything yet?"

"Not much. As little as I could."

"Let me get this straight. Our daughter out-and-out asked who the Nightwatchman was, and you kept your composure? Marian, I'm impressed."

"If you don't stop laughing I'm going to hit you good and hard."

"All right! Easy there, woman! Ouch! Okay, we'll think of something."

"That's not even the worst part."

"Oh?"

"Robin, she heard from someone in the village that Guy stabbed the Nightwatchman."

"How did she take that news?"

"I'm not sure. She didn't seem too upset. I'm actually more concerned about Rodger right now."

"Why, has he heard the story?"

"Some of it, apparently. Not the part about his father. I saw Meg today. She's worried about Rodger. She told me ever since he was in a scuffle with a boy in the marketplace a few weeks ago, he's been quiet. I mean, more than usual. Withdrawn, she said. Usually he confides in his mother, but she said he won't tell her what's bothering him."

"He sounds like a typical boy about to become a teen to me."

"I'd think so, too, except that Eleanor remarked on it as well. She said that Rodger's been snappy with her and yells at her to leave him alone."

"So, what else is new?"

"It's just that Rodger's always been a polite boy. It doesn't sound like him."

"He's his father's child. Guy was always moody, too."

"I wonder if he heard something about his father. You know how people talk. It hasn't been that many years since Vaisey. Robin, do you worry that we've been remiss in not telling our children about the past?"

"Do you mean 'we' as in us and Guy and Meg?"

"Of course. I know we've talked to them before about this, but Guy wanted to put it off until the children were much older."

"They're not that old now."

"But they're hearing things, that's my point. You can't stop people from gossiping. Our children are learning things from others. Shouldn't it come from us instead?"

"I'm not disagreeing with you, love, so stop frowning at me, will you? You've already bruised my arm."

"Robin, there's no more time to waste. We need to sit down with Guy and Meg, right now, today, and figure out what we're going to tell our children."


	12. Chapter 12 This Little Corner of England

**THIS LITTLE CORNER OF ENGLAND**

Guy rode his horse across the meadow toward the twinkling lights shining in the cottage windows in the village of Locksley as he headed home from Nottingham.

The frost-nipped pastures and the barren plowed earth, brown and russet and gold in the fading light, lay in wait for spring and the planting of crops. All around him, as far as his eye could see, the land was his. It was his inheritance, the Gisborne property, lost to him for many years after he was driven out of the village, along with his sister, for a crime he did not commit.

He reined in his mount, and gazed across the gently rolling fields, bordered by woods.

_All this is mine, and someday I will pass it on to my firstborn son. It was given to my father, but taken from me unjustly after my parents died. What a strange twist of fate that I am in Robin of Locksley's debt, and King Richard's debt, for restoring my lands and title to me. Two men, one now dead, whom I once hated and tried to kill, yet because of them I have all this again. _

His hard, restless features relaxed into a serene smile as he watched the sun sink below the horizon in a glory of brilliance. Behind him, the moon glowed with a pale, cold silver light.

_There is peace here, in this little corner of England. All I want now is to live in peace, to oversee my estate, raise my family, and grow old enough to see my grandchildren born. Someday I'll rest here, too, under this land, beside my father and mother, and my children will carry on the Gisborne name after me._

_Politics, power, fame—all those things so important to me once—are now in the past, and that's where I want them to stay. The pursuit of them brought me nothing but pain._

_Everything is a choice, everything we do, and this is the life I've chosen, __not the life that was thrust upon me and that I lived without conscience or thought to where it would lead me. _

He had made the choice, fifteen years earlier, to turn from his vain and vengeful course and join up with Robin of Locksley. His association and cooperation with Robin and his gang had given him a purpose again, a chance at a worthy life, and a sense of pride he had lost while he was Vaisey's misled slave and the prince's gullible pawn.

_I risked my life, and nearly lost it, helping Robin get the people of Nottingham_ _to safety during the siege. Afterward I faced King Richard's wrath with no expectations of clemency, only the strong conviction that for once I was doing the right thing, the honourable thing. _

_I expected to die. I had no hope of life, nor did I much care. If I had to die, I wanted to die knowing I had done what was right. I wanted to face justice, and take the consequences of my crimes, without shrinking back, without the cowardice of which I was so ashamed._

_And so I did. I turned myself in. I confessed to everything. I made no defense at my trial, no excuses for my conduct. I took the full responsibility for my own wrongdoing, and stood before the king and judge as a man should, not as the coward I'd been. _

_I threw it all on the table, I gambled everything—and I won. _

Life was good. He had his lands, his title, and a beautiful and loving wife who had given him three beautiful children.

_I got down to the business of living after that, but later than most, as did Robin. The other men in the village who are our age are already grandfathers. If only I'd listened to Marian, it could all have been mine long ago. She might have been mine. _

_No, Marian was never really mine. Her heart was always Robin's. She belonged with a man worthy of her, a better man than I could ever be. But God tempered the just punishment of my sins with mercy. I lost Marian, but He gave me Meg._

He thought back to the first time he saw Meg. Little had he known then what that chatty, annoying, and brutally honest girl would come to mean for him.

He hadn't loved her right away, no, not like he had loved Marian from the first time he laid eyes on her. His love for Meg had been born out of gratitude. This love had crept up on him unawares, while his life was swirling out of control around him. Through it all—his near execution at his own sister's hands, joining Robin's gang, the siege, the killing of Vaisey, the unspeakable ordeal of his trial—Meg had been there by his side.

_I was buried alive in that dungeon, already a dead man in more ways than one. But Meg wasn't afraid of me. She didn't turn her face away from the loathsome creature in the cell beside her. She held a mirror up to my soul instead, and forced me to see what I had become. My soul was poisoned and ugly, so hideous that she should have turned from me in revulsion. She took me into her heart instead. She saw the good in me, the good buried so deep I was certain it no longer existed. She cared for me when no one else would. She saw past my darkness to the man I wanted to be._

_And then she gambled, and almost lost, her innocent young life to save mine. A man like me, with nothing to give back to her, nothing left in my heart but bitter regret and shame._

_To think, not so long before that I believed my offer of marriage to a woman, any woman, would be the bestowing of a great honour and privilege. To elevate a woman worthy of my notice to the position of Lady Gisborne, and to feel her gratitude. _

_What a fool I was, what an arrogant fool! It was Meg who did that for me. She did far more for me by marrying me than I could ever do for her. I am the grateful one now._

_And Marian? The shock of seeing her alive, after believing her dead for a year, was soon overshadowed by the grief of losing her to Robin, and the knowledge that she would never be mine. _

_Not even Robin knew the depths of the anguish I suffered in the outlaw camp, with Marian so close, and yet a million miles from me. She gave me her caring, her concern, and even her forgiveness, but not her love. That had already been given to Robin._ _It took a long time to accept, and even longer before the pain of my loss was bearable._

_I loved Marian once, and some part of me always will. But she is Robin's wife, and Robin is my friend. Meg has given me what Marian never could—the fullness of her heart, her undivided love. She faced the threat of a terrible death for me, when I was someone so undeserving of her kindness, let alone her love._ _I would never betray my darling wife in such a way, or hurt and shame Robin or Marian by some impetuous act. _

Sometimes he would catch a glimpse of Marian's smile, and the sparkle of her beautiful eyes, and he would feel the familiar pang in his heart from the memory of a lost dream. But time was a wonderful healer, and his love for Meg and their children a strong deterrent against allowing his thoughts to stray down dangerous paths.

_My father was an honourable man, and I will be, too. I can't have everything I want in this life, and perhaps it's better if I don't. After all, I've been a poor judge of what's best for me. I gave my youth and strength to Vaisey, I followed him blindly, and he nearly destroyed me and everyone I cared for. Thanks to Robin, thanks to all of them, I finally broke free. _

Not that life was perfect now. No, far from it. There were all the everyday hassles and irritations to deal with. Petty squabbles amongst the villagers that he could no longer settle quickly and neatly with threats of dreadful punishments. The troubling undercurrent of hostility toward him wherever he went. Robin often encouraged him to deal with it all with a sense of humour, but that was easy for Robin to say. The people of Nottinghamshire loved him. He had no vile reputation to live down.

_At least my children won't have to go through the same. I can spare them that. They can learn from my past, and not repeat the mistakes I made. That is, if I can work up the courage to tell them the truth._

What was it Meg had said yesterday, that she was concerned about Rodger? He'd been moody lately, and fighting more than usual with Eleanor? Well, he hadn't exactly been a sunny child, when he looked back on it. The boy was too much like him in some ways.

And fighting with Eleanor? He smiled to himself, and wondered if Robin and Marian felt the same way he did sometimes when he saw their children together. His son was like him, and their daughter was like them. Was it any surprise that they fought and bickered and argued, and then, before long, were friends again? '_The apple doesn't fall far from the tree'_, he'd heard someone say, and now he understood the expression.

He'd placate Meg and have a talk with Rodger. Not about his past, no, he wasn't ready for _that_ talk yet. Maybe Robin or Allan could help him. They were better with children than he was. They could figure out what was bothering the boy. Perhaps Rodger would be more willing to confide in someone outside the family. Meg had told him more than once that he was overbearing, and frightened his son with his temper. Probably she was right. He was trying hard to rein that temper in. It wasn't easy to unlearn a lifetime of bad habits, not at his age. But he loved her and their children dearly and wanted to make them happy, so he did his best.

He turned his horse toward Locksley. In the deepening twilight he saw a figure approaching. It wasn't until the man was nearly upon him that he saw it was Robin.

"There you are," said Robin, as he took hold of the horse's bridle. "I've been all over the village looking for you. Allan told me you'd gone to town."

Guy smiled. "Nice to know I was missed."

Robin grinned back at him. "How's everything in dear old Nottingham?"

"Same as ever. I got my business done without more than half a dozen dirty looks, but I wasn't there very long."

Robin nodded in sympathy. Their friendship had come too far for any sarcastic rejoinders along the lines of 'what more could you expect after the things you've done?' Such thoughts no longer came to Robin's mind, let alone flew from his lips.

"Guy, could I ask you and Meg to meet with Marian and me tonight, at our house? We need to talk."

"Is there a problem?"

"Not exactly a problem, but a concern. It's about our children. We need to decide what we're going to tell them, you know, about us."


	13. Chapter 13 What Do We Tell Them?

**"WHAT DO WE TELL THEM?"**

"I can't do this."

"You have to, Guy."

Robin looked across at Guy's pale, grim features, and watched his hands tighten their grip on his wine goblet until the knuckles were white.

_I_ _feel for him, I really do, but there's no way around it. Marian is right, the time has come. We have to make a decision, a solid plan, and we can't leave this table tonight until we do._

He and Guy, and Marian and Meg, sat near the fireplace in Locksley Manor. The fire was crackling merrily, but Robin felt a cold chill settle over him. All of them were anxious about the coming conversation with their children, none more than Guy. As the one with the darkest and most regrettable past, he stood to lose the most by revealing that past, and he knew it. They all knew it.

"Why?" Guy demanded, his voice rising. "Why can't we wait until they're grown up? Why do we have to tell them now?"

"Because our children have been hearing things."

"What things?" He set the goblet down with a bang. "Who's been talking?"

"People talk, Guy," said Robin. "They gossip. People in Nottingham, people in the villages. There's no point in getting angry about it. You can't stop them. All our shared history was out there for everyone to see. You and Vaisey, and me and my gang—everyone saw what happened."

"And they're not always careful about who might be overhearing them," Marian added.

Guy sighed heavily, and poured himself another cup of wine. "So, what have our children heard? About me and Vaisey and all that good stuff?"

"We don't know yet. That's what we're trying to find out."

"To start with, Eleanor asked me about the Nightwatchman," Marian told him. "She doesn't know it was me. But she has heard that the Nightwatchman was stabbed by—"

"By me?"

"I'm afraid so."

"And what did she say to that?"

"Not too much. I mean, she didn't seem very upset. More like surprised. She knows that you worked for Vaisey, and she's heard bad things about him. She wanted to know if it was true that you worked for him."

"What did you tell her?"

"As little as I could, to satisfy her curiosity. Somehow, knowing Eleanor, I think she'll take it all in her stride. Meg and I are more concerned about Rodger."

"Just what has he heard? Did Eleanor say anything?"

"As far as I know he isn't aware that it was me, or anything about, well, the rest of it."

"And now you want me to tell him the truth, Robin? What is he going to think of me when he finds out I stabbed Marian?"

"Come on, Guy, Marian doesn't hold that against you now. Even I don't hold it against you! You didn't know it was her, after all. How could you have known?"

"And how do I tell him the rest, about the crimes I—?"

Guy stared down at the table and ran his hand across his brow. Meg laid her head against his shoulder. He turned to her, and took her hands and held them in his.

"How can I tell him what I've done?" he said in a low voice after a moment's silence. "He'll hate me for it. He'll be ashamed of me."

Robin knew Gisborne too well not to know what he was likely to do as far as revealing his past to Rodger. When he had turned himself in to King Richard after the siege, he'd confessed to, and had recorded on paper, every crime he'd ever committed. When that signed confession was read out at his trial, the shocking thoroughness of it had very nearly overcome any mercy that King Richard and his court were inclined to show him.

_That's Guy,_ thought Robin. _He's an all-or-nothing man. It's one of the things I admire about him. He's honest. Even when he's up against the wall, with no way out, he tells the truth. Under this circumstance, though, I'm not sure it's such a great idea. Rodger is still just a boy. Does he really need to know everything his father has done? _

"He's your son. He's not going to hate you. Meg doesn't hate you. I don't hate you, do I? And I've had plenty of reason to. Marian doesn't hate you, either."

"Robin is right," said Meg gently. "And you don't have to tell him everything, darling. Just tell him what he needs to know for now. The rest can come later, if it even has to be said at all."

"Guy, I've got to tell Eleanor about things in my past that I'm not proud of, either," Robin continued. "I fought in the Crusades just like you, and I took the lives of other men, some of them unjustly. Few of us in this day and age don't have blood on our hands, one way or another."

"True enough. There's some comfort in that, I suppose. So, are we going to tell them how we fought with each other for years? They think we've always been the best of friends."

"I guess we'll have to. But it's all water under the bridge now. That's all behind us."

"To us, yes, but not to our children. Robin, honestly, how many times did we try to kill each other?"

"I'll bet you tried to kill me more times than I tried to kill you," answered Robin with a smile. "There was the time you nearly cracked my skull open on a rock and tossed me off the cliff, remember? I've still got this bump on the back of my head. That, and the time you walloped me in the gut with my bow while I was dangling over Davina's pit of snakes."

"You deserved it."

"I deserved it?"

"Yes. You were a cocky, arrogant son of a—"

"Now, boys," Marian interjected in the same scolding mother tone she took with Eleanor when the girl was back-talking to her, "let's not go off on a tangent here and start finger-pointing about who deserved what."

Guy smiled apologetically at her. "Sorry, Marian. Old habits, you know."

"Yes, I know. But neither you nor Robin have any room for boasting. The pair of you were perfectly ridiculous."

Guy and Robin snickered over Marian's reprimand. In the midst of all the worry over their children, it felt good to reflect back long enough to laugh at themselves.

"Shall we tell our son and daughter?" asked Robin, with a grin at Guy and a wink at Marian. "Shall we admit that we were a couple of nonsensical idiots who wasted our time and youthful energy pounding the stuffing out of each other? Fighting over you and our differing political views, when we should have been cooperating together to get rid of Vaisey?"

"I've no doubt the children would be entertained by your stories, Robin, and if you did admit to them that you acted like a couple of idiots, it wouldn't be far from the truth."

Meg smiled at Marian, and nudged her husband's arm.

"Marian's right. You men, sometimes you are rather—"

"Stupid?" Guy finished, but his eyes overflowed with love as he looked down at his wife.

"Yes, stupid. And stubborn, and proud, and—" Meg gave up when she saw that Guy's amused smirk was only getting wider.

_She could say anything to him,_ thought Marian as she watched them, _and he'd eat it up like the highest praise. I never saw anyone so besotted in my life. Was he that bad with me? I suppose he was, once._

"Getting back to what we need to tell our children, Guy," said Robin, "don't you think it's important that your son know the good things you did as well as the bad? Look at what you did at the siege. You saved half the men of Nottingham, let's not forget. You risked your life to save them. You were a hero that day. Shouldn't your son know that?"

"It doesn't wipe out the rest."

"But he needs to hear both sides, not just the bad. You left that behind a long time ago. That's not who you are anymore."

"Perhaps not, but if I find out who blabbed in front of my son, that side of me just might come out again."

"Well, I don't think we'll ever find out. It could have been anyone. Maybe it was us. Maybe our children overheard us talking. What does it matter? What matters is that we need to find out what they know, and decide what and how much we're going to tell them."

"Should we ask them what they've heard first, Robin?" said Meg.

"That's probably a good idea. Something tells me they might know more than we think. We can go from there."

"What about Isabella?"

Guy groaned. "I'd forgotten about that."

"Does Rodger know about her?" Marian asked.

"He knows I had a sister. He's asked me about her several times. I always change the subject."

"That's going to be tough one, then."

"I have to tell my son that my own sister tried to kill me and his mother?"

"Tell him she was off her head when she ordered your heads cut off. That's true enough."

"Very funny, Robin. And then what? Tell him how she died?"

"Good Lord above, Guy! You don't have to spell out every little gory, gruesome detail, do you? The boy's only twelve. Don't give him nightmares for the rest of his life."

"So, when do we sit the children down and have the big talk with them?"

"The sooner, the better. What about tomorrow, after we get back from our business in Clun?" suggested Robin.

Guy grimaced, but slowly nodded his assent.

"We're only including Rodger and Eleanor, right? I mean, Ghislaine is far too young, and I'd rather Richard wasn't told just yet. He's a bit too young to handle this," said Meg.

"Just the older children, then. And only what we need to tell them. Are we agreed? Guy?"

"Yes, Robin. I knew this day would come. I've always known it, ever since my son was born. I have to tell him."

His head sank down wearily into his hands. "I just didn't know it was going to be this hard."


	14. Chapter 14 Inescapable Consequences

**INESCAPABLE CONSEQUENCES**

"You look bloody awful, Guy."

"Thanks. I feel bloody awful."

"Worried about tonight?"

"What do you think?"

The two men fell silent as they rode home from Clun late in the afternoon. After a strained pause, Guy turned toward Robin.

"I'm sorry, Robin. I didn't mean to bite your head off. I didn't get much sleep last night."

Robin nodded understandingly. He hadn't seen Guy look so wretched since the day, fifteen years ago, when he'd stood beside Meg on the platform in the town square in Nottingham, facing Isabella's executioner.

"I didn't sleep well, either, if it's any consolation."

"Neither did our wives, I expect."

"Marian said she'd have herself and Eleanor at your house by the time we got home. What about your younger children? No chance of them eavesdropping, is there?"

"No. Anna's under strict orders to keep them in their rooms."

Guy abruptly pulled his horse to a halt, and turned to look at his companion.

"I guess there's no way around this, is there?"

"No, I'm afraid not. He's got to be told. I'll be there, and Meg, and Marian. You won't be alone."

"Right now I feel like the most craven coward."

"You, a coward? I hardly think so. You were no coward when you saved the men of Nottingham from the prince's army, not to mention when you stood before the king in the Great Hall. You were the bravest man in the room that day. I was proud to call you my friend."

Guy smiled gratefully, but the smile soon faded. "This is different, Robin. I didn't give a damn what those people in the courtroom thought of me, with the exception of yourself and your gang, and Tuck, of course. This time it's my son who has to hear it."

"You cared about what King Richard thought of you."

Guy snorted. "Only because he held the power of life and death over me! It wasn't because I liked him personally. I didn't try to assassinate him twice because I liked him."

"Yet you named a son after him."

"After him, yes, but after Meg's brother, too, don't forget."

He caught Robin's smirk. "Well, I had to do something to show my gratitude! The man saved my life, after all!"

"That he did," Robin smiled. Even after many years of close friendship with Guy, he still found the workings of the man's mind and the depths of his heart to be a bundle of contradictions, at once both fascinating and exasperating.

"Guy, you didn't shrink back when you stood before the king, and you won't shrink back now."

"I know. I can't. I have to tell him the truth."

He gazed across the meadow toward Locksley, toward Gisborne Hall and his waiting son. His voice was soft, almost inaudible, when he spoke again.

"I'm never going to escape this, am I, Robin? It's never going to be over."

Robin knew what he meant. It wasn't just the talk with Rodger that Guy couldn't escape. It was his past—all of the terrible memories of hurt and grief and shame. There truly was no escaping it, and Robin would not make light of his pain by offering him trite words of comfort and inane platitudes. He reached out a hand instead, and touched Guy's shoulder.

"Come on, my friend, let's go home."

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"Do you know what this is about, Rodger?"

"How should I know?"

Rodger and Eleanor sat together on the sofa near the fireplace in Gisborne Hall. Their mothers had retired to the kitchen to talk alone, after instructing the children to stay put and wait for their fathers to arrive. Eleanor fidgeted in her seat. Rodger sat with his arms crossed and stared at the fire.

"I thought maybe your folks said something to you."

"No."

"You're not in trouble again, are you?"

"You would think so, wouldn't you? No, I'm not in trouble! You wish I was, is that it?"

"All right, you don't have to yell! And, no, don't be silly. It's just a little weird that your parents and mine want to talk to us at the same time, don't you think? What do they want to talk about?"

"Damned if I know," was the curt reply.

Eleanor bit back a hasty response. Not so long ago, she would have run straight to Rodger's parents to tattle on him for using bad words. But something was bothering him, and had been for several weeks now. If Rodger was in some sort of trouble, she didn't want to make matters worse for him. She chewed her lip instead, in an unconscious imitation of her father when he was perturbed, and joined Rodger in staring at the fire.

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Guy and Robin arrived at Gisborne Hall, and met their wives in the kitchen.

"Let's get this over with," said Robin.

The two sets of parents filed into the living area, and sat across from their offspring. Though his chair was made inviting with plenty of plump cushions, Guy perched on its edge as if he might leap from it and run at any moment.

Meg sat near Guy, and laid a comforting hand on his.

_She's as scared as he is in reality,_ thought Robin. _She's just better at hiding it. Guy always did wear his heart on his sleeve_. _We're all scared, __afraid of how our children will take the news. But we're in this together, and there's some comfort in that._

"Children, we've been a bit backward in having this talk with you both, but we discussed it last night and decided it's time that you knew."

"Papa, I know all that stuff," interrupted Eleanor, with an exaggerated roll of her eyes. "I know where babies come from." She nudged Rodger. "Maybe you should explain it to Rodger. Use small words so he'll be sure to understand."

Rodger shoved her away from him. "Shut up, Eleanor!" he snapped.

"Rodger!" Guy barked. "Enough! And don't tell people to shut up, it's rude!"

Robin smiled inwardly at the idea of Guy giving lessons in polite speech and gentlemanly decorum to the son who had inherited his quick temper. The man had certainly come a long way, in theory if not always in practice.

"That's not what I'm talking about," he said to his daughter. Then, more sternly, "Eleanor, stop teasing Rodger and listen to me. This is important."

He got up, paced the floor for a moment to gather his thoughts, and then sat down again next to Marian.

"You know that Guy and I have been friends for a long time. You also know that we share a brother, your uncle Archer. What you may not know is that it hasn't always been this way between us."

"Uncle Guy, did you really work for Sheriff Vaisey? Was he a bad man? I've heard he was pretty awful. Why'd you work for him? And did you stab the Nightwatchman? Why?"

"Eleanor!" cried Marian. "Stop interrupting your father and pay attention!"

"Yes, Mama."

The parents were so focused on Eleanor's interruptions that they completely missed the expression of appalled surprise that passed over Rodger's face as the stabbing was mentioned.

"I take then, that you've heard of Sheriff Vaisey," Robin began again. "What about you, Rodger?"

Rodger nodded, his eyes downcast.

"What have you heard about him?"

"All I know is that he used to be the Sheriff of Nottingham a long time ago, before I was born," answered Eleanor. "There was a siege once, something to do with King John when he was Prince John, and Vaisey was killed and now Sir William is the Sheriff. Did you work for him, Uncle Guy? Mama says you did."

"Eleanor—"

"No, Robin, it's okay." Guy looked at Robin's eager-faced daughter, and his silent and withdrawn son.

"Yes, I worked for him for many years, as his lieutenant. I followed his orders and enforced the law for him."

"I've told you, Eleanor, that I was one of King Richard's personal guards," said Robin. "When I came back from the Crusades, I became an outlaw, along with Allan and Little John and Will Scarlett and Djaq. There were others, too, who are dead now. Are you starting to understand now how things were?"

"Why'd you get outlawed, Papa? I thought you did kind things for people, like bringing them food when they were hungry."

"I did, but there was more to it. When I returned from the Holy Land, I saw that things were bad in Locksley and in Nottingham. Vaisey was running things, and he was, well, he was a tyrant. Do you know what I mean by that?"

The children nodded.

"He treated the people harshly. He taxed them into poverty and punished them severely for every wrong, even little things. There were other issues, too, political issues that I won't go into right now. Suffice to say that I didn't agree with how things were done, and when I chose not to tolerate it any more, I ended up as an outlaw."

"Robin was on the wrong side of the law in my eyes," added Guy, "along with his followers. We—we fought each other for years. We tried to kill each other."

"Papa, you and Uncle Guy tried to kill each other?"

"We did. At one time, believe it or not, we hated each other."

"But you're friends now. What changed?"

"A lot of things changed. Shall we tell them the story, Guy?"

Guy sighed heavily, but, resigned to the full disclosure of the past, he slowly nodded his acquiescence.

"As it can't be avoided, we might as well. Would you like to start?"

Robin launched into their history, beginning with the day he and Much arrived home in Locksley. Guy was thankful for Robin's discretion. The man had obviously given the matter careful thought, and so the story he told was one fit for the ears of their children, with many of the grim details and much of the bloodshed left out. Marian added her own comments from time to time, as did Guy.

Meg said little. Her part in the drama had not yet been told. She watched the children's reactions instead. Eleanor's eyes glowed with excitement at what sounded to her like a tale of high adventure, but Rodger shrank further and further into the cushions of the sofa as the story progressed.

Robin did not get far, however, before Eleanor again broke into the conversation.

"Who killed Sheriff Vaisey?" she asked. "And Mama, you promised me you'd tell me who the Nightwatchman was!"

"That's coming, Eleanor, just be patient. It's hard to explain without telling you the rest of the story first."

"Somebody killed him, at the siege. I know, I overheard the smith and his brother and my friend Matthew talking about it."

Robin and Guy looked at each other. "Tell her, Robin."

Robin hesitated before replying. "Well, this is getting a bit ahead of my story, but we did, Eleanor. Guy and Archer and myself fought Vaisey and his guards in the castle, and Guy and I killed him."

"Oh!" said Eleanor. "But you worked for him, Uncle Guy. How come you killed him?"

"It was justice. He was an evil man. He killed a lot of innocent people. I saw that Robin was right about him. I was fighting on the wrong side when I worked for him. Robin, and Marian, convinced me of that."

Guy caught Marian's smile, and he knew what it meant. _He's mad, you know that. Why do you work for him?_ she'd said to him once, a lifetime ago. _You're a good man, Guy. You're not a killer. _If only it had been true. If only he'd listened to her sooner.

"I have to tell you children something that's hard for me to admit, but you need to know," said Guy. "I wasn't a good man when I worked for Vaisey. I did things I'm ashamed of, things I regret to this day."

"Like stabbing the Nightwatchman?" asked Eleanor.

"Yes, that's one thing I regret."

"Who was he?"

Guy glanced at Marian.

"I'll tell them, Guy," she said. Then, turning to the children, she said, "The Nightwatchman wasn't a he, but a she."

"A woman?" exclaimed Eleanor. "Really? Wow! Anyone I know? Matilda? Or was it Djaq?"

"No, dear. It was me."

"Mama?" Eleanor shrieked. She started to laugh. "You were the Nightwatchman?"

"Calm down! And stop laughing, this is serious. Yes, I was. While your father was away in the crusade, I disguised myself and went out at night, giving food and medicine to people. No one but my father and Robin knew about it."

"But, Uncle Guy—"

"Sheriff Vaisey ordered Guy to kill the Nightwatchman on sight," said Robin. "Guy had no way of knowing it was Marian when he wounded her."

"This is why we're having this talk with you children tonight," said Meg. "We know you've been hearing stories about our family's history from others in the village. We want you to hear them from us instead."

"We have a lot to tell you still," said Robin, "some things that are hard for us and that may be hard for you to hear."

"Rodger," said Meg gently, "what's wrong? What is it, darling?" She got up from her chair and went to her son. "Are you crying? I know, I'm sorry, this is hard—"

Rodger looked past her kind eyes to his father, who he loved more than anyone in the world except Mother.

"Tell me you didn't do it, Father! It's not true, it can't be!" he suddenly burst out.

"Rodger, it's okay," said Marian soothingly. "It was a long time ago. Your father didn't know it was me—"

"No!" Rodger cried. "There was another. He said you did it!"

"Rodger, what are you talking about?"

"The boy, the boy in Nottingham, he told me you killed his grandfather! I told him he was a liar. My father would never have done that. But he said you did!"

Meg stood up to make way for Guy, who hunkered down in front of Rodger. The boy's cheeks were wet with distraught, almost frantic tears. Guy gripped his shoulders and looked into his face.

"What did this boy say to you?" Guy demanded.

"Tell me you didn't, Father! Tell me he's wrong!"

"What did he say? Answer me!"

"He—he said his grandfather was a miner, at the Treeton Mine," Rodger choked, the words pouring out of him in a jumble as Guy shook him. "The mines weren't safe. He led—the other miners—a strike. He wouldn't go back into the mine. Sheriff told you to kill him. The boy said, he said—you stabbed him—you killed him, in front of his son and—the others, the other miners."

Guy slowly stood up.

"It's not true, Father! That boy made it up! Didn't he?"

No one spoke. No one answered him. No one could meet his eyes, least of all his father. It did not take Rodger long to realize why.

"You did kill him. It is true."

He sprang up from the sofa, and faced his father, the man who was his hero, the center of his world, the man he trusted and believed in and wanted to be.

"You did kill his grandfather! You are a murderer, just like he said!"

"Rodger, no! Sit down and listen!"

Blinded by tears and horror, Rodger stumbled toward the front door, yanked it open, and ran out into the night. Robin went after him.

"Rodger, come back here!" he shouted. But the boy had already disappeared into the blackness.

Guy sank down into his chair, his face buried in his hands.

"Oh, my God Almighty, what have I done?"


	15. Chapter 15 The Runaway

**THE RUNAWAY**

_No, not my father!_ _No!_

Rodger ran across the dimly lit, cobbled courtyard toward the stable. He heard Uncle Robin shout at him to stop, but he only ran faster.

_I didn't want to believe it! I was sure that boy was lying to me. But he wasn't. It's true. It's all true!_

He reached the stable doors and fell against them, panting, his breath a frosty plume in the night air. His body shook with sobs, the tears coursing in icy trails down his cheeks.

'_He stuck a knife in him and killed him. Your father's a murderer….'_

His father had murdered the miner who led the strike. Killed him in cold blood, in front of his son. Who else had Father murdered, or tortured, or mutilated, at Sheriff Vaisey's orders? He'd tried to kill Aunt Marian! True, he hadn't known it was her, but what if he had succeeded? Aunt Marian would be dead now. Uncle Robin wouldn't have married her, and Eleanor would never have been born.

'_Hard to tell you—things I'm ashamed of—I wasn't a good man when I worked for Vaisey.' _

His father's own words. Now he understood. Now it all made sense. For years he'd heard rumours, whispers, hushed conversations. He'd seen, and puzzled over, the unfriendly way some people looked at them when they rode into Nottingham. All the times he was told he'd understand things when he was older, and worse, all the times his father had changed the subject when he'd asked questions about their family.

They hadn't wanted to tell him, so they had kept the truth from him. And he didn't want to believe any of it. He still didn't. But it was true. His father had killed people, for Sheriff Vaisey.

A wave of nausea turned his stomach upside down as he pulled open the stable doors.

_I've got to get out of here. I can't go back home, not now. I can't listen to any more of it. I can't look at him, knowing._

_Where can I go? Allan a Dale's house? No, that's the first place they'd look. Hugh and Willie's cottage? No, they'd send me straight home rather than risk Father's anger._

_No, I've got to get out of Locksley altogether._

He snatched Starlight's bridle from its peg, and led the pony from his stall. He buckled the bridle on as quickly as his cold-numbed fingers would allow.

_Much and Eve? I could ride to Bonchurch! No. Much is Uncle Robin's friend more than Father's. He's never liked Father. Besides, they'd search there, too. _

_Little John. That's it! I could ride to the orphanage and see Little John. I like John. He's kind. I could talk to him._

He scrambled up onto Starlight's back. A half moon, shrouded in wispy clouds, was the only light to guide him as he galloped his pony out of the village and onto the road.

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"Guy, just calm down. We'll find him. He couldn't have gone far. Meg, Marian, stay here. We'll search the village."

"Papa, let me come! I can help!"

"Not this time, sweetie. Stay here with your mother and Aunt Meg, in case Rodger comes back home."

"But, Papa!"

"Eleanor!" said Marian, as the two men grabbed their coats and went outside. "You heard your father!"

Eleanor sighed in exasperation, and dropped back down on the sofa.

"Why'd Rodger run off, anyway?" she asked her mother. "The big silly! Didn't he want to hear the rest of the story? I did!"

"He was upset, darling," answered Aunt Meg. Tears filled her eyes as Marian went to her and embraced her.

"It's okay, Meg, they'll find him. He'll be okay. We knew this was going to be hard, but don't worry. We'll get through it, and he will, too. We've been through worse."

Eleanor's ears perked up. She badly wanted to know what the "worse" consisted of, but her mother and Meg said no more.

Really, it was maddening! Why did adults always stop talking just when their conversations were getting interesting?

"Mama," she ventured after a moment, "is it true, Uncle Guy killed a miner? Did he kill anyone else? And did you know about this before tonight?"

"Yes, Eleanor, I knew."

"Aunt Meg, you knew, too? And Mama, he stabbed you? Do you have a scar from it? Can I see?"

"Eleanor, please! Help us out and be quiet for now."

Even Eleanor knew when enough was enough. She fell into a frustrated silence, while her mother and Aunt Meg sat near the fire, holding each other's hands, and waited for word.

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Robin and Guy came back inside a few minutes later. Their faces were somber.

"You didn't find him?"

"We searched the stable first. His pony's missing."

"Oh, no."

"We'll gather some men and send them out in different directions," said Robin. "Any idea where he might have gone?"

"You don't suppose he went to Nottingham, to your father's house, Meg?" suggested Marian.

"It's quite possible, yes," said Meg, and she smiled faintly with relief. "I should have thought of that myself. Guy, that's probably where he went. You should go there first. I should come with you."

"No, wait here, Meg. I don't want you out in this cold."

"Maybe he went to the orphanage to see Little John," offered Eleanor.

"Not likely," answered her father. "It's twenty miles or more to the orphanage. He wouldn't ride that far, not on a night like this."

Eleanor shrugged and said no more. She knew Rodger. Oh, yes, he'd ride that far in the cold and dark, all worked up over this business with his father as he was. Run off crying, and right in the middle of her father's fascinating story, too! Upset enough to jump on his pony and ride all night to who knew where, but if the grown-ups didn't want to take her suggestion seriously, that was their problem.

"I think you should go to my father's house first," Meg said again.

_Of course,_ thought Robin, after a moment's reflection. _He's gone to his grandfather's house. It makes perfect sense. He wouldn't ride all the way to the orphanage._

_Or would he?_ _Rodger can be impulsive at times. Hmm, just like someone else I know. Feel, act, and then, lastly if at all, think—hasn't that always been Guy's motto? _

"I'd like to get my hands on the man who told his son that story—"

"Guy, you'll do no such thing," said Robin, dragged away from his thoughts by the sudden and dangerous anger he saw in the man's face. He clamped down hard on Guy's arm and looked sternly at him. "Come on, this isn't helping matters. Simmer down before you rush out and do something stupid."

"Who was the boy that Rodger met in the marketplace?" Marian asked.

"How the hell should I know?" Guy shot back. "He was just a boy, like any other."

He disengaged his arm from Robin's grasp, and swept a lock of his black hair from his ice-blue eyes with a toss of his head. He knew Robin was right, much as he chafed under the rebuke, but calm and rational discussions were not, and never had been, his favoured way of dealing with problems.

"He told Rodger that his grandfather was a miner," said Robin. "What happened that day at Treeton? Do you remember anything about the man you killed?"

"There was an accident at the mine," Guy replied in a low voice. "Some of the miners died, and so one of the miners refused to go back down, and he threatened to lead a strike. Vaisey showed up while I was arguing with him. I ordered him and the other men back into the mine. When he didn't comply, and I hesitated, Vaisey said "are you giving them choices?" You know, in that tone he took with me when he thought I was being too soft. I-I didn't think. I was angry and humiliated by the whole situation. So I pulled my dagger and killed the man, in front of the others. I'm pretty sure one of them was his son."

_That's Guy,_ thought Robin. _He feels an emotion, and he acts on it. Only later, after he's done something reckless, without regard for the consequences, does he stop to think. And now his son is just like him. Run off without a thought to the pain and worry he's putting his family through._

"The miner's son's name was Rowan," said Marian. "You remember him, Robin?"

Robin caught Marian's quick glance, and the almost imperceptible shake of her head. Oh, yes, he remembered Rowan very well. The young man's drive for revenge against Gisborne had nearly cost Marian her life.

"He won the silver arrow in the Sheriff's archery contest," Marian continued, "with a little help. It was his father, Dunne, that you killed, Guy."

"Rowan?" said Guy. "Okay. He beat out my archer, Michael the Red. Well, actually, you did, Robin. You told me the story, remember?"

Robin saw Marian glare at him from behind Guy, and shake her head again, and he frowned at her.

_What does she think, that I'll slip up and tell Guy the whole truth? We agreed long ago that we would never divulge her full part in that story. Guy only knows that it was Marian's arm that he cut when he confronted her as the Nightwatchman, but what would he do if he knew Rowan came close to killing Marian that day, just to get back at him?_

"You tricked the Sheriff and I both," Guy went on, smiling a bit at the memory, and mercifully oblivious to the furtive exchange of glances between Robin and Marian. "You shot the arrow that won the contest, but Rowan got the credit for the win and took home the silver arrow."

"The little boy that had the run-in with Rodger in the marketplace must be Rowan's son, then," said Robin. He paused, and saw that Guy's fleeting smile had changed back into a menacing glower.

"Guy, before you do something rash, think about this. We don't know for sure that Rowan's son heard the story from his father. He might have heard it from some other person in his village. And even if he did, that doesn't mean Rowan put his son up to telling Rodger about it."

"Children say things, without thought to the hurt they cause, added Meg. "You said the child was young, right? About seven or eight, perhaps? He didn't understand. Don't blame him."

"Don't blame Rowan, either," said Marian. "He's bitter about his father."

"And I'm not?" countered Guy sullenly. "You think I don't regret what I did that day? If I had a farthing for every past action of mine that I regret, I'd be a rich man. And now it's not just me, but my son, who has to pay for my wrongs."

Robin saw that Guy, despite his tone of voice, was close to tears. His impatience with the man's stormy, passionate temper faded.

"I never should have said anything—"

"You had to, Guy," said Robin as he placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. "And you're going to have to tell him a lot more before this is over. But right now we need to find him. Come on, before Rodger rides too far away. We'll get some others to help us. Let's go."

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_How far is it to the orphanage? An hour, maybe two? It can't be further than that. I must be almost there._

Rodger slowed Starlight to a walk. The pony's shaggy winter coat would make him overheat if he kept him at a canter all the way.

He, however, wasn't in any danger of overheating. He buried his stiff, chapped hands into Starlight's mane, and bowed low over the pony's neck so that the animal's body heat would warm him. The frigid night air bit through his woolen shirt and trousers and his thin indoor shoes. It hurt. He shivered so hard that he ached inside as much as outside. His tear-dulled eyes strained to see in the darkness.

_Perhaps I should turn back. There are outlaws in these woods, or so I've heard. Not nice, mannerly outlaws like Uncle Robin and his gang, but rough, lawless men who will take what they can from me. I have nothing of value to steal, except Starlight. My beautiful pony!—what if someone tries to steal him? I'll fight them! But how? I have no weapon, not even a knife. Perhaps I should turn back. _

_No. I can't. My father…. _

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The hour before sunrise was still and dark. The crunch of his boots on the frost-brittle grass was the only sound Little John heard as he wheeled another load of kindling from the shed to the house.

He treasured these times early in the morning, when he could be alone with his thoughts. He had precious little time to himself, and no chance for deep thought, once the orphans were awake.

He smiled. Such a noisy, boisterous crew they were, but he loved them. When, one by one, they grew up and left the orphanage, to apprentice with craftsmen or work in the fields and houses of titled lords, he felt the loss keenly.

They were all his children, though none could ever fill the void left by Alice, the beloved wife he had lost when he became an outlaw, and John, the child he'd never gotten to know. His son John would be a grown man by now, with children of his own. His grandchildren. But he would never know them. They were out of his life forever, and far away, with another man, another husband and father. Luke was a good man, who could look after them as they deserved. They didn't need him anymore.

But the orphans were here, now, and they needed him, as the peasants who once suffered under Vaisey's tyranny had needed him. With that knowledge, John was content. If, alone at night in his bed, he felt the bitter ache of loneliness, the love-starved children in his care drove most of it away the next day with their laughter and their hugs and their gratitude.

He trundled the barrow slowly. The bigger boys could cart more wood once they were up and fed. He'd had to learn to pace himself these last few years. He got tired now. He wasn't young anymore. When he pushed himself too hard, he felt it—the heavy, dull pain in his chest that troubled him with increasing frequency. Matilda had prescribed a medicine for him to mix with his nightly cup of wine, to ease the discomfort. It helped him to keep going. He had to, for so many depended on him.

He was pushing the barrow back to the shed for another load of kindling when he heard the clip-clop of hooves approaching. Who could it be at this hour of the morning?

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_It can't be much further, can it? How many hours have I been riding? It must be nearly morning. Is that the glow of sunrise? No, that's only the setting moon shining through the trees. They're all glittery with ice. It's __beautiful…._

_Funny, I don't feel so cold anymore, just sleepy. Maybe I should stop to rest for a while. No, the orphanage is just around the next corner. Isn't it? I can't think, can't remember…._

_Maybe this is a nightmare, the whole thing, with my father and all. I'll wake up soon, in my nice warm bed, and none of this will be real. I'm so tired. No more dreams. I just want to sleep now…._

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Little John dropped the wheelbarrow, and rounded the corner of the house. He saw a shaggy black pony and its rider, a dark-haired boy clad only in a shirt and trousers, who lay slumped over the pony's neck.

"Who are you?" he asked as he went up to them and took the pony's bridle. He lifted the young rider upright.

"Rodger? What're doin' here, lad? Did you ride all the way from Locksley? You must be near frozen! Here, get down!"

When Rodger didn't respond, John pulled him off the pony's back. The boy's limbs were so stiff with cold that he could barely stand.

"What were you thinkin', lad? You're not half-dressed! And all the way from Locksley on a night like this? Why are you here?"

"Oh, Little John!" Rodger cried weakly, through jaws chattering with cold, "I had to run away! I had no choice! My father—he told me—"

_So, that's it,_ thought John. _Robin told me on his last visit here that he and Guy were plannin' to tell the little ones. Rodger finally found out the truth about his father. Well, God help the poor lad now, and his mum and dad._

Rodger sagged down. John caught him. He lifted the nearly unconscious boy in his strong arms and carried him into the house.

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Within a short time, Rodger was seated in a comfortable chair in the orphanage kitchen, thawing out near the roaring fire under a heavy, head-to-toe layer of blankets. He spooned hot porridge, and toasted bread thickly slathered with butter and honey, into his famished mouth, while John went outside to settle his pony in the stable with a hot bran mash and a bucket of oats.

Without telling Rodger, John sent one of the older boys, mounted on a cart horse and well bundled against the cold, in the direction of Locksley, to try to intercept the inevitable search party and inform Rodger's family of his whereabouts. He returned to the kitchen just as Rodger was starting on his third bowl of porridge.

"Your father told you, did he?" he asked as he pulled up a chair to sit beside him.

Rodger stared at him. "How did you know?"

"It wasn't hard to figure out. I'm only surprised he waited this long."

"Then, you knew? You knew about the things he did?"

"Of course. I was there. I was part of Robin's gang."

"But, my father is your friend!"

"Aye, he is."

"But how can he be, after what he's—"

John smiled, and reached over to give his shoulder a gentle shake.

"Finish your breakfast, lad, and we'll talk."


	16. Chapter 16 A Different Way of Seeing

**A DIFFERENT WAY OF SEEING**

"He's not anywhere in the village, you say? Are you sure you searched everywhere, Robin? At every cottage?"

"He's not in Locksley, I'm telling you! He wouldn't have taken his pony if he meant to hide out close to home."

"That's true. Then where is he?"

"If I knew, I'd tell you, wouldn't I? Have you heard from Allan?"

"Yes. He just got back from Bonchurch. Rodger hasn't been seen there, either. And he's not at his grandfather's. My father-in-law offered to help us look, but I suggested that he stay there in case Rodger shows up at his house later."

Guy shook his head in frustration. "Where else haven't we looked?"

Robin shrugged. "You don't suppose he's somewhere else in Nottingham? Or Sherwood?"

"It's so cold tonight. If we don't find him soon—" Guy looked over at Robin. His eyes were haunted by fear. "If anything happens to him, I'll never forgive myself."

"Guy, we'll find him. Let's check back home once more. If he's not there, then I think we should ride to the orphanage, just in case Eleanor was right."

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"No, Guy, I'm not going to stay home and wait any longer, and don't you dare argue with me about it! I'm coming with you. Anna can look after the other children."

"If you're going with them, Meg, I am, too," added Marian, with a look at Robin that plainly said not to argue with her, either. "Eleanor, I want you to stay here for now, and wait for us."

"Why can't I come?"

"Because you can help us more by staying here. If Rodger comes back home, you can let Reggie know, so he can send us word."

Eleanor sighed with resignation, and sat back down. Rodger wasn't coming home on his own, at least not this night. If, by some miracle, he came to his senses and returned home, Anna could tell Reggie, couldn't she? They just didn't want her tagging along, that was it. They'd already wasted hours searching for him instead of going straight to the orphanage. They could have been there and back by now, with Rodger in tow, if they'd listened to her in the first place!

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Warm, sleepy, wrapped in a heavy blanket and with his stomach full of hot porridge, Rodger watched Little John stir up the fire and add a few more sticks of wood.

Some of the orphans were out of their beds and eating their breakfasts in the adjoining dining hall. The muffled clatter of cups and bowls, and the delicious smell of freshly baked bread, drifted through the door. He and John were the only occupants of the kitchen, however, and John had locked the door to keep out any unwanted interruptions.

"So, your father and Robin finally told you the story, did they? I knew they were plannin' to."

John glanced at him over his shoulder. "How much did they tell you?"

The question, though spoken softly, jolted Rodger out of the pleasant lassitude that had settled over him. Fully awake, he sat upright in the seat, and tried to recall the words his father had spoken moments before he'd run out of the house.

'_I was not a good man. I did things I'm ashamed of.'_

Father hadn't said much, when he thought about it. Uncle Robin had done most of the talking. Father hadn't openly confessed to anything, either, except that, long in the past, he had hated and tried to kill Uncle Robin. Robin had admitted he'd once felt the same hatred for Father, but neither Marian nor Robin appeared to hold a grudge against him. There was the miner, of course. No one had denied that Father killed the miner who led the strike. Was there more to the story, more behind Father's admission of shame and remorse?

"He—he didn't tell me very much," he said, as John hung the fireplace poker back up and sat beside him. "There was this boy, from Nottingham."

Rodger told John about the day in the marketplace when the strange boy had revealed Father's role in his grandfather's murder. John's face was grim as Rodger recounted the tale.

"I remember that day," John said after Rodger finished his story. "Robin and the other lads and myself made an end to the Sheriff's mine, but not before several men died."

"My father killed that boy's grandfather, didn't he?"

"Aye, he did."

Rodger bowed his head. "I was hoping it was a lie," he murmured.

"You have to understand, Rodger. Things were, well, they were different back then. Nottingham wasn't like it is now, or Locksley, either. Your father did as he was ordered. He was under the authority of Sheriff Vaisey. Under his control, you might say."

"Did he kill anyone besides the miner?"

"I'm sorry, lad, but yes, he did."

Rodger was silent as he stared into the fire, his arms wrapped tight around his body under the blanket. John felt the boy's pain as though he'd been struck in the face himself, but there was nothing he could do to soften the blow for Rodger. Neither he, nor anyone else, could change the past.

He thought back to the day when he'd traveled to Locksley to see Guy and Meg's firstborn. Guy's unconcealed delight, as he showed off his new son to John, was such that, for the first time in their relationship, he'd envied the man.

Now, twelve years later, it struck him all over again—the almost uncanny resemblance between the boy and his father. For a fleeting moment John had the strange, unsettling feeling that he had somehow gone back in time, and was seated beside, not Rodger, but Guy's younger self. Rodger was everything that Guy might have been once. Sheltered, trusting, largely innocent, before Sir Rodger went away to the Crusades, and young Guy of Gisborne's secure and happy world began to crumble and fall.

The same thing, it seemed, was about to happen to Rodger, and John grieved for him—for the wounded innocence, the disillusionment, the betrayal of trust he saw in his eyes. He put a comforting arm around the boy and pulled him close. Rodger, fighting back tears, rested his head against John's strong shoulder.

_He traveled all night in the bitter cold to come to me,_ thought John. _Not to Allan, or his grandparents, or one of the villagers, but to me. This heartbroken son of my former enemy needs to know the truth, good and bad, about his father, before his trust in the man is destroyed forever. I'll tell him, of course. Whatever I can, or should. _

_But what the lad really needs is to go back home. He must hear the whole truth from his father, not me. _

"Why, Little John?" Rodger asked. "Why did he do those things?"

"I want to tell you something," said John. "We all have regrets. Your father made more than his share of mistakes, but Robin did, too. So did I. I left my wife and my son when I became an outlaw."

Rodger stared up at him. "You have a wife? And a son?"

"Her name was Alice. The best wife God ever gave a man, and I left her, and my son John. I left them and ran off to hide out in Sherwood. I didn't take care of them. I wasn't there to raise my son. They're with another man now, far from here. I'll never see them again."

Rodger's head began to spin as he adjusted his view of Little John. He'd never heard anything about his wife and son! Was there no end to the disturbing secrets to be revealed about his family and their friends?

"When I met Robin I was livin' in Sherwood, if you want to call it livin', with a few other men like myself. We were all outlaws hidin' from the Sheriff. You said your father told you he wasn't a good man. I wasn't a good man, either. I wasn't like Robin. I robbed poor people as well as rich, and I hurt people, Rodger. It was Robin who changed all that for me. He brought our gang together and gave us a work to do that we could be proud of."

"Why did you get outlawed?" Rodger asked.

"That's a long story, and not one I want to share with anyone. It's better left unsaid."

"Oh."

"We all have times in our lives we'd like to forget about. The older you get, the more you'll understand what I mean."

"Uncle Robin said that he and Father hated each other once. Did you hate my father, too?"

"We all did, me and the other lads and Robin, and half the people of Nottinghamshire, too."

"I know some people don't like my father. When we go into Nottingham, I see people look at him like they're angry. Is it because of the things he did?"

"Well, lad, you can't really blame them, can you? He worked for Sheriff Vaisey for years. I won't lie to you. He did some pretty rotten awful things when he worked for the Sheriff."

"What changed? Why is he your friend now?"

"What changed? Well, sometimes it's a question of walkin' a mile in someone else's shoes, or boots in our case."

"What do you mean?"

"It means you try to see the world through someone else's eyes. It's a different way of seein', you might say. You start to understand why they do the things they do. That's what happened with your father and us."

"I guess I really don't know much about my father. He never talks about his life before he married Mother and had my brother and sister and me. He changes the subject if I try to ask him questions."

"I'm not surprised. It's painful for him, for all of us who lived through those days."

"How did you and my father become friends?"

John chuckled. "It all started 'cause he saved my life."

"He did?"

"Aye, more than once. The first time was when we rescued your father, and your mother, from Sheriff Isabella."

"Who was she?"

John saw his bewildered expression, and smiled kindly at him.

"You haven't heard that story either, lad? I can see there's a lot they haven't told you yet."

'_There's a lot they haven't told you.' _Rodger suddenly realized that his father had been trying to tell him the story when he'd run out the door. For the first time that night, he began to have misgivings about his hasty exit from the family home.

"I had an aunt, Isabella, my father's sister, but he never talks about her. She died a long time ago."

"I'll let them tell you that part of it, then," John answered. "It's a long story, and best if it comes from them. But your father saved my life while we were escaping from Nottingham."

He told Rodger the story. "The guard would've killed me if not for your father."

"Did he kill the guard?"

"No, lad, he didn't. He knew the man, you see. Ralf DeBracy was his name."

"I know him!" cried Rodger. "He's Father's friend in Nottingham!"

"I like Ralf, too," said John. "I'm not holdin' a grudge against the lad for what he did. He was under orders, like your father. He was just doin' his job."

"Whenever I ask my mother about our family, she always says it's complicated. I think I'm starting to understand what she means now."

"Your mum's a smart lady. You'd best listen to her."

"You said Father saved your life more than once?"

"Aye. He saved most of the men of Nottingham at the siege. He held off Prince John's army while Robin got the men into the castle."

"All by himself?"

"All by himself, lad. He held the gates of Nottingham against the prince's soldiers. Hundreds of them, mind you. He got hit with arrows and cut with lances, but he stood his ground, Rodger. He saved all of us, and then he helped Robin kill the Sheriff. Your father was a bad man in many ways, but not that day. That day he was a hero."

"He was trying to explain things to me when I ran out the door, wasn't he?"

"It sounds like it to me."

"I guess I didn't give him much of a chance to explain." Rodger hung his head. "I didn't want to hear it," he whispered. "I didn't want to know about—"

He turned back to John. "What should I do?"

"You do what you feel is right, Rodger. I can't tell you what to do. You're not a little boy anymore. You're old enough to make up your own mind. What do you think you should do?"

Rodger pondered the question for a moment, before looking back at John with an earnest intensity so much like Guy's that John couldn't help but smile.

"I shouldn't have run away, John. I should have stayed and listened to him. I-I think maybe I should go back home."

"I'll tell you what I know to be true. Your father loves you. You're the most important thing in his life. You're the ones he lives for now, you and your mum and your brother and sister. He loves you, and he takes care of you the best way he knows how. That's more than I did for my son."

Rodger thought about all the things his father had done for him. He thought about his home, his warm and comfortable home, and the estate that would someday be his. He thought about his beautiful pony, and his new boots that looked just like Father's. His brother and sister. The generosity Father showed toward the villagers of Locksley. How kind and loving Father was to Mother. How proud his father was of the Gisborne name….

"Your father's a brave man, Rodger, but it was the hardest thing in the world for him to find the courage to tell you about the bad things he's done. I know. He talked it over with me not long ago. He was so afraid you'd be ashamed of him."

"Ashamed? No, I'd never be ashamed of him, John! I-I love my father, but, but he's—"

"He's not the man you thought?" John finished. "No, I expect not. But he's not the man I once thought, either. I hated him, Rodger, for years. But things changed. We got thrown together, your father and I. We had a common enemy in the Sheriff. We found ourselves working together, with Robin. That's when I really got to know him, and I saw that he had another side to him, a better side. Perhaps you need to give him another chance, too. Sit down with your father and let him explain things to you. Hear him out, let him talk. It'll be hard, for both of you, but you need to. You both need to. You just might find you like him all the better for it."

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"How much further, Robin?"

"It's about another five miles from here, more or less, if I remember. Cold, my love?"

"I'm okay. How about you, Meg?"

"I'm fine."

Meg smiled at the question. How could she possibly be cold when she was seated on the saddle in front of her husband, with a cloak, a shawl, and Guy's arms wrapped protectively around her? The only place she felt cold was in the pit of her stomach, and that was a chill nothing could warm until they found their son and he was safe.

"I just hope Rodger's there, with John. If he isn't, where else could he be?"

"We'll gather more men from the village in the morning," said Guy, "and widen the search."

"Wait, wait, stop!" cried Marian.

"What is it?"

"Someone's coming. I hear a horse."

"You've got better ears than me, Marian."

"Look, there's a light up ahead."

"I think you may be right."

"Don't be silly. Of course I am."

They halted, and waited for the rider to appear. A young man, mounted on a cart horse and carrying a lantern, came into view. He waved to them, and reined in his horse.

"I'm looking for Sir Guy and Lady Gisborne," he told them.

"I am Sir Guy, and this is my wife, and Robin of Locksley and Lady Marian. Who are you and what do you want with us?"

"John Little sent me from the orphanage to find you, Sir Guy. Your son Rodger is there with him."


	17. Chapter 17 Letting Go

**LETTING GO**

"John! Oh, we're so glad you found him!"

The four weary travelers gathered around Little John in the front hall of the orphanage.

"He found me, more like," John replied. He motioned them toward the dining hall. "Come in, now, and get yourselves warm! You must be hungry. Come sit down and we'll have a bite to eat."

"Is Rodger okay?"

"He was pretty cold when he showed up here."

John smiled reassuringly at the anxious faces of his friends.

"Now, don't you worry, Meg, or you either, Gisborne. The lad's thawing out by the fire in the kitchen, and he's eaten his breakfast. He'll be none the worse for wear after he's had a good long sleep in his own bed."

He paused before adding, "We've had a talk. He's feeling bad about runnin' off, and he's ready to listen now."

They entered the hall. A few children still lingered over their morning meal, but most were already busy with the day's chores.

"We'll wait here," said Robin. He and Marian sat down near the fire to eat and warm up. John took hold of Guy's arm as he and Meg headed toward the kitchen.

"Now, listen to me good, Gisborne. The boy's been through enough this night. He's scared to see you 'cause he thinks you'll punish him. I've told him you won't be angry and you won't punish him. I've promised him, so don't go and make a liar out of me."

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"Mother, please don't be angry with me. I shouldn't have run away. I'm sorry!"

Meg caught her son in a tender embrace.

"Rodger, darling, I'm not angry. We're just so glad you're safe! Something bad could have happened to you!"

"You're not angry?"

"Well, we're a bit upset, yes, but only because we were so worried! Your father and Robin and Allan have been all over Locksley and Nottingham, searching for you. It was Eleanor who guessed that you'd be here."

"Eleanor?"

"Yes, Eleanor. It would seem she knows you better than we do."

His father came quietly into the room behind them. Rodger saw him, and he cringed, but there was nothing else he could do but move away from his mother to stand before his father.

"Father, I'm sorry I ran away." Then, with a hard swallow, "Are you going to punish me?"

"No," replied his father, after a long and dreadful pause, during which Rodger was afraid to meet his eyes. "This was as much my fault as yours."

Guy stepped forward hesitantly, and put his arms around his son with an awkward attempt at gentleness, as though such a display of warm familial affection were foreign to his nature.

_Oh, Guy!_ thought Meg. _Is it so hard for you to show him how you feel?_ _And Rodger. Our son still has no idea how much his father loves him. It's easier for Guy to take a belt to his son than to hug him, easier to drill him mercilessly for hours in swordsmanship than to laugh and joke with his child._

'_Humanity is weakness'—that's what Vaisey pounded into him, for years. Guy never completely believed it. The good man he was meant to be never quite left him entirely. If Rodger can only look past his father's reticence, that tough outer shell he wraps himself in, and see the caring, loving man within._

Rodger, relieved to find he was not going to be subjected to a beating, hugged him back, momentarily forgetting how scared he'd been at seeing him. The embrace was brief, however, before his father pulled away and grasped him by the shoulders. Rodger knew from long experience what that gesture meant—his father would stand for no more disobedience.

"You need to listen to us, do you understand? Running away isn't the answer."

"I know, Father," Rodger replied contritely. "I'm ready to go home."

Meg gently touched Rodger's face, and Guy's. She smiled at both of them. "Let's have something to eat," she said, "and then I think the two of you need to sit down and talk."

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That morning, as Robin, Marian, and Meg rested and visited with Little John, Guy told his son the remainder of the tale that Robin had started the night before. Being Guy, and not possessing Robin's discretion and reserve, he related his story to Rodger in the only way he knew how—straightforward, blunt, and in far more gory detail than Robin or Meg would have approved.

"I was younger than you when my father left for the Crusades," Guy began.

He and Rodger sat alone in the kitchen near the fire, facing each other over a small work table.

"In my father's absence I had to look after my mother and my younger sister. Robin and I knew each other, of course, but we weren't exactly friends. He was younger than me, and a spoilt brat who liked to show off with his bow. At least that's how I saw him."

Rodger immediately thought of Eleanor, and almost smiled. But the smile faded away as he saw the seriousness in his father's face.

"When I was fifteen, we learned that my father had not returned from the Holy Land with his men. We believed he had died in the war."

Guy paused, and cleared his throat. "You're old enough, I think, to understand these things now. My mother thought my father was dead. She, she got lonely, Rodger, and she and Robin's father, they—"

He saw recognition slowly dawning on the boy's face. "Is this about Uncle Archer?" Rodger asked.

"Yes, your uncle. You know that he's my half-brother, and Robin's. Do you understand?"

"I think so."

"My mother and Malcolm planned to marry, but then something happened to change all of it."

He told Rodger the story of the night of the celebration, and the disastrous consequences.

"Robin let me take the blame for injuring the village priest. The bailiff wanted to hang me, but my father came home while I was locked up in the bailiff's house. I hadn't seen him in four years. He was a different man than when he left. He wasn't dead, but he might as well have been."

Rodger soon learned about his grandfather's leprosy, and his subsequent banishment from Locksley.

"I have to tell you what happened to your grandparents. It's not a pleasant story, and I wish I didn't have to, but you need to know. My mother—well, as you can imagine, when my father came home, it was a mess. My mother discovered she was with child, and the father was Malcolm, not my father. She had the baby in secret. But that wasn't the end of it. It got much worse."

Guy told his son of what happened after Malcolm found Ghislaine and Sir Rodger together in their house.

Rodger sat in silence, speechless with shock and dismay.

"Uncle Robin's father?" he said after a moment. "He killed your mother, my grandmother?"

"He didn't mean to, but yes, she died. My father stayed with her as the house burned down. My parents, your grandparents, both died, Rodger, in the fire that I set by accident. I was blamed for their deaths, and my sister and I were driven out of Locksley."

"But you didn't do anything wrong, Father!"

"No, but people don't always act in fairness. The villagers didn't like our family anyway. The fire was an excuse to throw us out."

"Where did you go?"

"We were able to stow away on a ship to France, where my mother's people were. They didn't accept us because of my father. It was a very bad time, a very desperate time. We had to work very hard to "earn our keep", as they put it. I had no way to care for my sister, so when she was fourteen I arranged for her to be married. The man she married paid me generously, and I took the money to pay for my training as a knight. I didn't know what sort of man he was then. Isabella and I didn't see each other again for many years. I went off to the Crusades. I won't tell you about those years. I'd rather forget them myself."

He looked down. "Rodger, I hope that you are never called upon to go to war, for any reason. Robin and Much will tell you the same thing. War, fighting, killing—it does things to a man. I came home to Locksley with a heart full of hate. It wasn't my parent's fault. They taught me good principles, as I've tried to teach you. But I let my bitterness against the people of Locksley, and against Robin, fester in me. I was angry, Rodger, angry at the world, and eager to unleash that anger. I wanted revenge against everyone I felt had wronged me. I should have contested my right to have my father's estate returned to me. Instead, I fell into company with a man named Vaisey."

"Do you mean Sheriff Vaisey? I've heard of him. I overheard some men talking once, about you and Vaisey, how you worked for him."

"Well, whatever they said was likely true. He wasn't the Sheriff then, but soon after we became acquainted he was appointed by Prince John. He forced out Marian's father, Sir Edward. I won't lie to you—I admired him for it. He was ruthless. He wanted power, and he had no scruples about getting it. I let Vaisey persuade me to work for him. He promised me that if I did his bidding, he'd make sure I had my estate again, and wealth and power. I listened to him, and believed him. I wasn't a good man, Rodger. I wanted power, too, and I didn't care who I hurt, who I trampled on to get it. And there was something else I wanted. Marian, as my wife."

"I thought you always loved Mother!"

"No, Rodger. I didn't even know your mother then. I managed Robin's estate in Locksley for about three years. We didn't expect Robin back, to tell you the truth. Vaisey said the estate would be mine soon. Then Robin returned, and I stood to lose all of it again. And Marian, she—she didn't love me, not that way. I tried to make her love me. I wasn't kind to her sometimes. I did things I regret."

Rodger soon learned what those regrets were—burning down Knighton Hall after the interrupted wedding, and putting her and her father under house arrest on Vaisey's order.

"Robin and I fought against each other, and fought over Marian, for years. Vaisey and I and other men throughout England were Black Knights. We pledged to put Prince John on the throne. Vaisey and I plotted with the prince to travel to Acre to try to kill King Richard. Marian learned of it, and tried to kill Vaisey. She didn't succeed. Vaisey kidnapped her and took her with us, but Robin and his men followed us."

Guy told him the story of what transpired once they got to Acre. "I was about to kill the king when Marian intervened. Vaisey came on the scene just then. She got between the king and Vaisey, and Vaisey stabbed her."

"The Sheriff stabbed Marian?" Rodger exclaimed. "What did you do?"

"What I should have done was to kill him right there. But Robin and his men were coming. Vaisey and I got on a ship and escaped back to England. I thought Marian was dead. I didn't know she survived. She and Robin and their gang came back to England, too, many months later after Marian recovered from her wound. Robin told you about the Sheriff's pact with Prince John. He couldn't touch Vaisey, so he went after me instead. We had a fight in Locksley. I almost killed Robin that day. I hit his head and threw him into the river, and went back to the Sheriff bragging that Robin was dead."

Rodger tried to imagine this, but it was almost impossible to picture. His father and Robin were the best of friends!

"How did Robin get away?"

"Tuck found him. He'd been sent by King Richard to help Robin."

He told Rodger the story. "Robin wanted to cut my throat that day, and he'd have been justified. But he didn't. He let me live. It should have ended there, but I thought Marian was dead, and I blamed Robin for getting her killed. I hated Vaisey just as much, but I thought I could still get what I wanted by working for him. Then I got in good with Prince John while I was with him in London. I came swaggering back to Nottingham, and set out to get Robin. It backfired on me, though."

He related to his son the events of the months that followed—his failure to catch Robin, the sudden arrival of his sister Isabella, his final falling-out with Vaisey, and their desperate battle in the castle that led to Vaisey's "death".

It was then that Rodger learned exactly who Sheriff Isabella had been—his own aunt!

"I thought I had it made then," said Guy. "Prince John promised to make me the new Sheriff if I captured Robin. But it didn't quite work out that way."

He told Rodger what unfolded next—how he caught Robin by trickery, and tried to drown him. He told him of Isabella's betrayal, and how it moved him and Robin to come to a shaky truce long enough to cooperate together to toss both Isabella and the prince down the well, before escaping from the castle to go their separate ways.

"I disappeared into Sherwood after that, to get away from the prince and my sister. But she betrayed me again."

'_Betrayal is the worst crime a man can commit.'_ He'd heard his father say those words before. Now he understood why.

"I didn't know where to run," his father continued, "or who to trust after that. Then I did something really crazy. I tried to kill Prince John at Isabella's party."

"I was arrested and thrown into prison, the same prison I'd thrown so many others into. Isabella had me starved and tortured. She planned to kill me. I was there for a month. What I didn't know was that while I was in there, Robin saw his father. We all thought Malcolm perished in the fire, but he escaped, and found Robin after twenty years. He told Robin the truth of what happened that day, before he died, too. Robin and his men went to York to rescue Archer. Then they decided to help me, to get me out. But they ended up rescuing more than me. They saved your mother, too."

"Mother? Was she there?"

"There's more to tell you, Rodger. Yes, your mother was there in the prison, with me."

"Why?"

Guy told him. When he finished, Rodger looked at him with horror. "My aunt wanted to kill you, and Mother?"

"Don't hate her, Rodger. Her life was terrible, and some of it was my fault. At the end she went mad."

"Is that why you never talk about her?"

"Yes."

Guy told him about the rescue, and their flight from Nottingham. "Robin and his men saved my life, and your mother's. They took us back to their camp. It was there that I learned the truth about my parents, and Robin's, and I found out that Marian was alive."

"And that's when you and Robin became friends?"

"Well, sort of. We had to work things out between us, of course. Some of the gang weren't too happy that I was there with them. Not that I blame them. I'd been their sworn enemy for years."

"What about Mother? Did she stay at the camp, too?"

"Yes. After her falling-out with your grandfather, she stayed with us, at Matilda's cottage."

"But what happened to Sheriff Vaisey?"

"He went back to Prince John. Robin and I and the others took Nottingham from Isabella, but she escaped, and also went back to the prince. They plotted to take back Nottingham. The prince sent his army, and Vaisey led a siege against us."

He told his son of the storming of the city gates.

"Little John told me you held off his army, and saved the men of Nottingham!"

"I can't take all the credit. I did my part. Robin already told you that he and I and Archer fought Vaisey and Blamire and their guards in the castle."

"And you killed Vaisey."

"Yes. Both Robin and I."

"But what happened to my aunt, to Isabella?"

"She chose to side with Vaisey. All I know is what Archer told me, that I was fighting with Vaisey, and Isabella came behind me with a knife in her hand. She dropped it suddenly, and backed away from me. And then, Vaisey, he—"

"He killed her?"

"Yes, he killed her. Just like he tried to kill Marian."

Rodger was silent. "So that's why you never told me how she died."

"I couldn't tell you, Rodger. Not until you were old enough to understand."

"But the siege ended after that?"

"Not long after. King Richard came with his army, and drove off Prince John's soldiers. We won the battle, but it wasn't over for me. I turned myself in."

"You did? What did they do with you?"

"I went before the king. It was the longest day of my life. I confessed to my crimes and prepared myself to face the consequences. I was sure I would be executed."

"You turned yourself in, knowing that?"

"I had to, Rodger. It was the right thing to do, the only right thing. I didn't want to run away from what I'd done."

"How did you get off?"

Guy smiled. "Well, if it had been up to the king, I'd have been nothing more than a stone marker next to my parents and my sister right now. Robin and Marian, and Little John, and Archer and Tuck, and many others, spoke up for me. I'll be honest. King Richard granted me a pardon as a favour to Robin and Marian, not because I deserved one."

"And then you married Mother?"

"A few months later. I got my lands and title back from the king, and built our home. Then I married your mother, and a couple of years later you were born."

They stayed at the orphanage until after the midday meal, and then prepared to make the long, cold ride home to Locksley. Rodger hugged Little John as they parted.

"Just remember what I told you, lad. Your father loves you. No matter what he's done in the past, he's a good man now. Give him another chance."

"I know," said Rodger. "I will, I promise."

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The five travelers arrived at Gisborne Hall late in the evening, to be greeted by their family, friends, and household servants. All were too tired to do much more than eat a small meal and warm themselves, before they retired to their respective homes to sleep.

Meg went upstairs to Rodger's room while Guy stayed below to talk with Robin. She tucked him into bed, in a way she had not done since he was a little boy, and then she sat on the edge of the bed and smoothed his hair from his eyes.

"Darling," she said, "I know it's been difficult for you to hear the truth. And I know your father is strict with you and you think he's unfair sometimes. But there's a reason why. He doesn't want you to do the things he's done, to make the same mistakes and ruin your life the way he ruined his."

She cupped his face in her hands. "You're so much like him, Rodger. You're his second self. He's loved you since the day you were born. He held back from telling you the truth about his life because he didn't want to hurt you."

"I'm glad he finally told me, Mother," said Rodger. "I won't wonder anymore. It was harder not to know."

"I hope that both of you can be open with each other now."

She took hold of his hand. "Do you remember what I told you once, a long time ago? When you got Starlight, and you were afraid Prancer would be jealous? I said that sometimes you have to let something go to get something you want. This is one of those times."

"What do you mean?"

"What I mean is, you may have to let go of the father you thought you had, before you can accept the man he is. I understand, Rodger, because I had to. I knew what he was when I married him, but I also knew the man he wanted to be, and I grew to love that man. If you give him that chance, I think you can learn to love the father you have, too."

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Guy came upstairs after Robin left. Meg kissed Rodger goodnight, and left them. Guy sat down on the edge of his son's bed, and looked upon his son. The face gazing back at him was his own; himself as he had been before his father left for the Crusades and the world he knew fell apart.

Outside, his son was the same boy who'd run from his home only the day before. He looked no different. But he was different. The trusting innocence, the unquestioning faith in his father's rightness, was gone from his eyes. The child Rodger, his child, was no more, and would never come back to him again. In those terrible hours of grief and pain and broken trust, Rodger had left childhood behind him forever.

_I've committed murders, _thought Guy, _but this is the worst one of all. I've murdered my son's innocence, and I can't give it back._

He gathered the boy into his arms and held him, the boy who was a part of him and a part of his beloved Meg, and his heart ached with love and sorrow. He had never wanted to hurt this child, this firstborn son that he would give his life to protect, and now he had.

"Don't hate me," Guy whispered against his cheek. "I'm sorry, Rodger. I'm sorry I'm not the man you thought. I only wish I was."

Rodger drew back, and saw that his father's eyes were running with tears. He'd never seen his father cry. A sense of loss, and yet at the same time an overwhelming relief, washed over Rodger, and he realized in that moment that he didn't fear his father any more. His father was not invincible, not unreachably high. He was human, and vulnerable. They were equals now. A feeling he had no name for, but which he would later recognize as compassion, filled his heart.

"I don't hate you, Father. I could never hate you. I-I love you."

In response, his father said the words Rodger had waited all his young life to hear. "I love you, too, son."

Rodger hugged his father hard, and Guy was comforted. A huge, crushing load had been lifted from his shoulders. His son didn't hate him. He hadn't turned away from him in revulsion upon learning the truth. There was still a chance to gain back his trust and his respect, and as they smiled shyly at each other through their tears, Guy vowed to do so.

But, though neither one spoke it, they both knew that nothing would ever be quite the same between them again.


	18. Ch 18 All Is Fair In Nottingham Town

**ALL IS FAIR IN NOTTINGHAM TOWN**

"It's not fair, Papa!"

"I know, but what do you expect me to do about it? I don't make the rules."

"You're Robin Hood, aren't you? So change the rules!"

Robin smiled. "Eleanor, it's not that simple. My opinion isn't the only one that counts. I can't just barge in and change everything."

"You used to."

"That was many years ago, and for far different reasons. And it got me into a lot of trouble, too, I might add."

"There's no reason I can't enter the archery contest. It's those stupid, outdated rules against women competing. It's wrong and you know it!"

Stomp, stomp, stomp! went Eleanor's feet up the stairs to her bedroom. Slam! went the bedroom door. A moment later it opened again.

"It's a stupid rule, and I hate being a girl!"

Slam!

Robin sighed. He sympathized with Eleanor's frustration. She was the best young archer in the village, better than any of the boys her age. But the official contest rules forbade any women or girls from competing, or so he'd been told.

'_You're Robin Hood! Change the rules!'_

Eleanor had been making liberal use of such phrases lately. Ever since they'd sat their daughter down and given her the full family history, the recounting of her parent's adventures had become a never-ending source of useful material to be manipulated and exploited to her advantage.

"Why can't I?" she'd say when they told her no. "_You_ did!"

'_You did.'_ Those words nipped at Robin's heels nearly every day now.

Marian came into the room and glanced up the stairs. "You've only heard it since you came home," she informed him. "I've had to listen to it all day."

"I don't suppose it is fair, to exclude the girls if they want to try for the silver arrow," said Robin.

"Do the rules actually forbid girls, or is that just sacred, unassailable male tradition?"

"You know, I'm not sure, now that you mention it."

Marian raised her brows. "You're one of the judges and you don't know the rules?"

"Come on, Marian, it's my first year as judge. This is new for me. You can't expect me to have every little rule memorized."

She pursed her lips to stifle her smile, and Robin immediately wished he'd said nothing. He'd made quite a point of telling her, and Guy, that he wasn't entering the archery contest this year, but had instead volunteered to be one of the judges.

'_Let someone else win for a change,' _he'd said, without thinking how boastful it sounded. For a fact, he had won the yearly archery contest almost every summer since Sir William had become Sheriff. Taking home the silver arrow for first place was getting a bit monotonous, so Robin meant to step aside in the interests of fairness to the other hopefuls. However well-intentioned he believed his actions, it hadn't stopped Guy from smirking sarcastically at him and remarking, "How very noble of you, Locksley."

When Guy liked him, he smiled and called him Robin. When he was amused by him, it was a smirk, and "Locksley". When he was really peeved, and wanted to rub it in, it was a mocking sneer and "Hood". Guy hadn't called him "Hood" in a long time.

"So, what are you going to do about it?"

"Do? Well, perhaps I'll ask to have a look at that list of rules."

"You mean to let Eleanor enter the contest?"

"If I can, why not?"

"Robin, she can't compete against the older boys. She's only fifteen. She'd be up against boys of seventeen and eighteen. She's not strong enough."

"She's plenty strong, Marian, and it's not all about strength, anyway."

"Well, it's a moot point, because they won't allow it. Don't get her hopes up. She's far too spoiled as it is. She needs to learn that she can't have everything her own way."

"I won't say a word to the little lass. When Archer gets here, we'll march straight to Nottingham and have a talk with Sir William."

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"What? What's this? No girls allowed?"

"It's not fair, is it, Uncle Archer?"

"Of course it's not fair, and your father and I are going to set things right, aren't we, Robin?"

"If we can."

"No 'ifs' about it. Eleanor should get her chance. Just because she's a girl doesn't mean she can't be in the contest, does it, Eleanor?"

Archer, on a visit from King John's court, sat at the noon meal in Locksley Manor with his brothers and their families. Uncle Archer's visits were always anticipated and much enjoyed. He was a great favourite with his nieces and nephews. He treated them as very important and special people, and never talked down to them or scolded them. As the bachelor uncle, with no wife or children of his own, he was free to spoil his young relatives as much as he wanted, and he did.

He always brought gifts with him. For Rodger and Eleanor, there were new, beautifully made quivers for their arrows. For Richard, the budding artist in the family, there was a bountiful supply of hard-to-come-by parchment and paintbrushes, and for Ghislaine, another doll to add to her growing collection.

"Don't get your hopes up too high," cautioned Marian. "If you can't be in the contest, there's plenty else to see and do."

"Yeah, Eleanor," said Richard. "There's the pie-eating contest."

"Oh, yes, thank you so much for your wonderful suggestion," answered Eleanor. "I get such enjoyment out of watching a bunch of men stuffing their faces with pie until it comes out their noses."

Rodger and Richard laughed, and so did little Ghislaine, though she had no idea why.

"I have to agree with Eleanor on that one," said Marian. "It's disgusting to watch. Who started that foolishness, anyway?"

"The idea came up one evening at the Trip Inn, as a bit of bragging between a pair of brothers we all know, or so Allan told me," said Robin.

"My money's on Hugh, the blacksmith," said Guy.

"Well, I'm betting on his brother Willie this time," said Robin. "Hugh won last year."

"Can women be in the contest? If they can, I'll place my bet on Hugh's wife Bess," said Archer.

"Archer, you are wicked!" laughed Meg as she wagged her finger at her brother-in-law.

"There's the traveling circus," offered Marian. "There will be jesters and jugglers and acrobats, and a puppet show."

"Mama, really! All that stuff is for the little children! I'm way too grown-up for that!"

"You weren't too grown-up last year. You enjoyed it, remember?"

"That was last year."

"What about the lion? Don't you want to see it again? I hear there are two lions in this year's show."

"Papa, please! The lion? Did you ever see him? He's ancient, and toothless! Anna's grouchy tomcat is scarier than that pitiful old thing."

"It's clear to me that there's no pleasing her," said Archer, with an indulgent grin at his niece. "That settles it, Robin. As soon as we finish eating, we go to Nottingham!"

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"Robin, I understand, but we all know it just isn't done. The rules specifically say—"

"May we see the rules?" broke in Archer. He gave the Sheriff his most charming smile, which few could resist. "Just curious, Sir William. I've never read them myself."

"All right. Give me a minute to find them." The Sheriff rummaged through the pile of papers on his desk, the very same desk that once belonged to Sheriff Vaisey. "Ah, yes, here we are." He handed a rolled-up paper to Robin.

Robin glanced down the page. "Okay, number of paces from the target, three shots, we record the best shot, yes, yes. Ages of contestants, hmm. Okay. What does this say here? The 'persons' entering the contest, Sir William. Persons. It doesn't say men."

"Now, Robin. Let's not bandy words. We all know that it's understood that the contest is open to men and boys, not women."

"I don't see that spelled out here." Robin looked up to see Archer smile and wink at him. "What do you say, my brother?"

"I'm with you, Robin. 'Persons' is either male or female, as far as I'm concerned."

"My dear fellows, consider! What would happen if I let a girl enter the contest?"

"I don't know, Sir William. You tell me," replied Robin cheekily, with an answering wink at Archer.

"Too threatening, perhaps," said Archer, with a straight face. "It might intimidate the young men of Nottinghamshire if they have to shoot against a girl. Maybe we should reconsider."

"Yes, maybe you're right, Archer. We wouldn't want to subject those of the male persuasion still in their tender years to the humiliation of being shown up by a girl. It might do them irreparable harm."

Sir William began to laugh. "I see what game you're playing at, both of you!" He shook his head at them. "Robin of Locksley, I'm not going to argue with you. Fine, your daughter Eleanor may enter the contest. But the consequences are on your head if it starts a riot."

"Thank you, Sir William," answered Robin, with a respectful bow. "My daughter will be thrilled, and I'll gladly suffer the consequences if my request does cause a disturbance. Nothing new for me."

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Rodger sat on a bench in the stable, and picked up an arrow from the pile at his feet. He looked down the shaft to see if it was perfectly straight. He needed only three, but they had to be the best three arrows he'd made. Each boy would get three shots at the target, and the best shot, the one closest to the center, would stand as his final score.

He squinted at the arrow. Perfect, or nearly so. His arrow-making had improved by leaps and bounds from the first crude attempts.

Finally, he was of age to compete with the older boys. He harbored no dreams of winning first prize. He'd never been more than a mediocre shot. But he hoped for a good showing in the field of competitors, at least, and the chance to make his parents proud.

At nineteen, the boys joined the men. His father was competing this year. His father, Sir Guy of Gisborne, the man he'd lived with all his life, but was only now beginning to know and understand. It had been a year and several months since he'd learned his father's true story. Since that time it seemed to Rodger that all he did was observe his family.

In reality, life went on in the village of Locksley, and in Gisborne Hall, much as it always had. During the daylight hours, Rodger worked to perfect his horsemanship under Reggie's tutelage. He honed his skills with the sword under his father's supervision, and practiced his archery with Uncle Robin.

His father, with Allan a Dale, made the rounds of the Gisborne estate nearly every day, and Rodger accompanied them so that he could watch and learn how to manage his family's lands and the people who worked it. His mother had protested against her son being sent away to another manor to train as a page, and then a squire, with the goal of becoming a knight, and his father agreed. Rodger could learn what he needed to know right there in Locksley, from himself and Robin. Rodger was glad of it. He loved his home and his family and had no wish to live among strangers.

As the future Lord of Gisborne Hall, he took his father's instruction seriously. To prepare for his coming adult responsibilities, he busied himself in the evenings with lessons in reading, history, and mathematics, and all the other subjects a young man of his station in life was expected to absorb.

There were trips into Nottingham to shop, and visits with friends and family. In the previous summer, he'd accompanied his family on the long-awaited trip to London to see Uncle Archer and Tuck, and attended his first jousting contest. Eager to tell Eleanor of the sights he'd seen, he'd been bitterly disappointed at her reaction.

"Ho-hum," she'd yawned, with the jaded air of a world-weary traveler who has seen it all and then some. "Yes, Rodger, I've been there, more than once. So what? It's just a city, like any other. And what's so wonderful about jousting, anyway? It's just a bunch of silly showoffs bashing each other up."

Eleanor was as close and as dear as a sister to him, even if she acted more like a brother most of the time, but she was also a thorn in his side. Sometimes he liked her. At other times, when she made fun of him, he couldn't stand her. Especially when she teased him about girls.

Rodger was not as ignorant of the facts of life as Eleanor liked to make out he was. He'd had "the talk" from his father some time ago, in rough, plain-spoken language which would have horrified Meg if she'd been privy to it. Rodger added his father's well-meant, if rather coarse, explanations to those he'd already picked up from whispered conversations with other boys in the village, and the occasional, and often vulgar, jokes of the adult men. Some of his childhood wonderings on the subject were cleared up, but for all that, girls remained mysterious and intriguing creatures to Rodger.

He'd grown up surrounded by women—his mother, Aunt Marian, the female servants in the household, the other women in the village—but he'd never paid the young girls in Locksley much attention until the last year or so. Now they seemed to be everywhere. He had become acutely aware of their rounded forms, so delightfully different than his own, outlined under their dresses, as well as their long, flowing locks of black and red and gold, soft, fluttery voices, and eyes that looked upon him in ways that made him squirm inside, and yet ache with a strange longing he'd never felt before.

More than one young lass in Locksley sighed when the tall and handsome son of Sir Guy passed through the village on his gleaming black pony. When one of these enchanting beings attempted to converse with him, however, Rodger's tongue tied itself into knots. He was too genuinely modest to be aware that he was the object of many a girl's secret desire, and too shy to respond to the demure admiration in the swaggering manner that other boys of his age might.

Not all of his admirers were so young, either. Rodger was tall for his age, and strongly built, with a maturity in his features at odds with his fourteen years of life. People could be forgiven for believing him two, or even three, years closer to adulthood.

Eleanor knew of several girls older than herself, in Locksley and in the other villages, who entertained hopeless crushes on Rodger. This amused her to no end, and she loved nothing better than to tease him about it. She felt no jealousy. Handsome though he was, to her he was still just Rodger.

And, although he acknowledged to himself that she was, well, almost pretty, at least when her hair was combed and her dress was clean, she was still just Eleanor to him. Bratty, spoiled, boastful Eleanor.

But tonight Rodger didn't want to puzzle over Eleanor, or his father. His mind was on the Nottingham fair. The archery contest wasn't the only competition he'd signed up for. He had entered Starlight in the horse race, and he'd told no one, not even Reggie or Allan. Let them all be surprised when they saw him at the starting line. Starlight was the fastest horse in Nottinghamshire. The race was as good as won!

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Eleanor came into the stable with a triumphant light in her eyes, and plopped herself down on the bench next to Rodger. His peaceful solitude over, he reluctantly made room for her.

"Guess what?" she exclaimed. "You'll never guess, so I'll tell you. Sir William's going to let me be in the archery contest!"

"Congratulations."

"You could say it like you mean it."

Rodger smiled and picked up another arrow. "So, how did your father and Uncle Archer pull that one off?"

"My papa can do anything, that's why. He's Robin Hood, after all."

"If you say so."

"Are those the arrows you're using?"

"Yes. They're my best ones."

"You fletched them wrong."

"No, I didn't! My father showed me how."

"It's not how my father does it."

"So? There's more than one way to do it."

"Okay, but don't blame me if you don't win."

"Is that all you came out here for? To tell me you're in the contest and make fun of my arrows?"

"Do you want me to pick on you for something else? How about this—who are you asking to dance?"

"Dance? No one, since you ask. You know I hate dancing."

He hated dancing. Mother said it was important to learn, just as important, in fact, as learning to wield a sword or shoot his bow. Some nonsense about "social graces". But he detested the evening dancing lessons, even with Mother as his partner. At least she hadn't insisted that he learn to play an instrument. Richard treasured the lute Uncle Archer had brought him, and he practiced regularly with a tutor hired by their grandfather. Rodger loved his brother Richard, but they had little in common in their interests.

"If you'd just try it, instead of standing there on the sidelines like a numbwit, you'd like it. It's fun! I've an idea. Why don't you ask Margaret? She's crazy about you. I'm going to dance with her brother Robert, you know."

Margaret. The daughter of Sir Henry of Mansfield. All soft blue eyes and golden curls. But she had a tiresome habit of nervous giggling, and he had little liking for her brother. What Eleanor saw in that lout was beyond him to understand, but if she wanted to dance with him, well, that was her business. At least she didn't giggle like Margaret. Eleanor could take care of herself when it came to boys. She was a match for any of them.

"Good for you," he replied. "Have a great time."

She laughed and ruffled his hair as she'd done when they were children. He still hated it, but he refrained from striking her hand away. A gentleman of honour did not strike a woman, even when he was provoked.

"You're funny, Sir Rodger of Gisborne. What a stick-in-the-mud you are."

"You really think you're going to win the archery contest, don't you?"

"Why not? I've got as good a chance as anyone else."

"They'll laugh at you. All the boys will laugh."

"So? I don't care!"

"Good." He stood up, reached out his hand to her, and shook her hand solemnly. "Then, tomorrow at noon we'll meet on the field of battle, Lady Eleanor of Locksley, and may the best man win."


	19. Chapter 19 Born Troublemakers

**BORN TROUBLEMAKERS**

Ka-thunk!

Rodger's arrow hit the target and buried itself with a satisfying thud. It was his second try, and slightly closer to the center circle than his first.

"Nice job!" Uncle Robin called to him. Rodger smiled gratefully at Robin as the man measured and recorded his score. Marian, Uncle Archer, and his own family stood at the front of the large crowd of spectators, shouting encouragement. Rodger nodded toward them, and reached for his third arrow.

As he did, he saw Eleanor make a face at him from behind her mother. He averted his gaze from her, and focused intently on the smooth, supple lines of his beautifully crafted yew wood bow. It was a recent gift from his father, and the best of any he'd seen used so far at the contest. Not for anything would he acknowledge any of Eleanor's further attempts to distract him, or let on that it flustered him, not in front of all the men and boys of Nottinghamshire!

He glanced back once more, however, and caught his father's eye instead. Father wasn't cheering and waving madly like the rest. It wasn't his way. But his support, and his love, were there in the smile of approval he gave his son.

Over the course of the past year, many things had changed between his father and himself, and it wasn't all bad, Rodger reflected.

'_Let go of the father you thought you had,'_ Mother had said, '_and accept and learn to love the man he is.'_

Rodger had taken her counsel to heart. He had left his carefree childhood, with its blissful unconsciousness of the past, behind him forever when his father told him the truth about their family. The shock of the gruesome disclosures had left him crushed and devastated for a time. But it had forced him to take a fresh look at the many-faceted man who was his father, and he'd learned to appreciate his strengths and his good qualities along with the bad. A whole new world of understanding and respect had opened up since.

And his father, it seemed, was finally giving him permission to grow up. He spent the greater part of every day now with Father, overseeing the family's lands and the villagers. No longer was he sent home when Father and Uncle Robin and Allan conferred together about estate business. He was included in, as a part of the male leadership of the family. Mother might not acknowledge his growing maturity just yet. To her, Rodger was still her little boy. But in his father's eyes he was becoming a man.

He smiled back, and turned his attention to his final shot. Fit the arrow to the string, ignore Eleanor, draw back the bow, feel the tension, sight on the target, ignore Eleanor, aim, deep breath, calm. Release!

The arrow hit the outer edge of the center circle. His best shot ever! Another loud cheer went up from the crowd.

"Very impressive, Rodger of Gisborne," said Sir William, as Robin made note of Rodger's score. "Your father must be proud of you."

"Thank you, sir," Rodger replied. He felt his face flush. "I did my best, sir."

Rodger knew he hadn't won the contest. He had done well, better than he expected to, but his score was lower than three other boys. And several other boys, and Eleanor, had yet to shoot.

Fighting back the hollow feeling in his stomach, he turned to make way for the next boy, but as he did, a pair of strong hands gripped his shoulders from behind. He twisted his head around, and saw his father's beaming face looking down on him.

"I am proud of him, Sir William," Guy told the Sheriff. "Any man would be proud to have a son like mine."

Rodger smiled up at his father, and suddenly it didn't matter to him one bit that he hadn't won the silver arrow.

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The last boy from the crowd of hopefuls took his turn. The crowd began to call out impatiently for the name of the winner when the Sheriff waved his hands for silence.

"We have one more contender amongst the fourteen to eighteen year-olds. Our final competitor today will be Eleanor of Locksley," he announced.

Instantly there was a murmur of protest from the crowd, and a few raised voices.

"What? What's this? A girl?"

"That's Robin of Locksley's daughter. You know, Robin Hood."

"Oh, yes, him. But, his daughter? Doesn't he have a son?"

"No, lad, just her. She's a fair shot, so I've heard."

"But she's a girl! We can't have girls in this contest. It's not right!"

"Why not?" called out Eleanor in a loud voice. "Why can't I?"

The murmuring men were stunned into silence. That the Sheriff would allow her to be in the contest was bad enough, but now the sassy little chit was talking back to them! Well!

"Sir William, I must beg to differ! This is against the rules!"

"I understand your concern, Thomas of Lancaster, but no rule is being broken. There are no rules forbidding women from entering the contest. Eleanor is free to take her turn."

There were a few tolerant smiles, but many more groans of disapproval.

"Ridiculous!" muttered one. "An insult!" muttered another.

"Those are strong words," said Archer, his arms crossed on his chest as he stepped toward the protesters. "An insult, you say? An insult to whom?"

"You stay out of this, Archer!" grumbled yet another.

"That's _Sir_ Archer of Locksley to you, Simon of Clun," said Robin. "He's a knight, might I remind you, and visiting us from the king's court."

Simon's surly red face blanched at the mention of King John, and he said no more. Robin confronted the rest of them.

"Men of Nottingham, what exactly is the problem here? Oh, I see, you're afraid to let a girl compete, is that it? Big men like you? What's your concern, that she might better the score of some of your sons?"

"Now, you listen here, Robin Hood—"

"That's _Lord_ Robin of Locksley, _Earl_ of Huntingdon to you, Thomas," responded Archer.

"Men!" scoffed Meg, as she shook her head in disgust at the scene. "Always itching for a fight. Guy, stop them, before someone gets hurt!"

"Mama!" Eleanor nudged her mother. "Pull your Nightwatchman moves on them! That'll settle them!"

Ever since she'd learned of her mother's youthful career as the mysterious Nightwatchman, Eleanor had pestered her mother to show and teach her some of her "moves", especially those she had employed in her escapes from Guy and his soldiers. She never tired of hearing her mother's tales of derring-do, or laughing at Uncle Guy for getting himself shamefully kicked down the stairs of Locksley Manor by said Nightwatchman.

_The girl is diabolical, _thought Marian. _How did she know I was thinking the exact same thing? Hmm, if these fools start a fight with Robin and Archer, I wonder if I could still…._

Guy, who had overheard Eleanor's suggestion, and subsequently read Marian's thoughts, grinned hugely. He turned to Marian.

"Eleanor is her mother's child, no doubt of it," he whispered to her. "And her father's." He gestured at Robin and Archer, who were on the verge of squaring off with several of Nottingham's more belligerent residents. "Look at those two. Born troublemakers, both of them."

"Guy, don't let them fight, please!" Marian whispered back urgently. "Stop them! Don't make me do it!"

"No? Not much has changed, you know. You're every bit as much of a troublemaker as they are, Lady Marian the Nightwatchman. Come on, won't you humour me this once? I'd love to stand back and watch you kick their behinds like you did mine."

"Guy, please!"

"All right, all right," he muttered. Then, borrowing a favourite teasing word of Robin's, he silently mouthed "Spoilsport!" to her before he stepped forward to stand between Robin and Archer and the crowd of men pressing in on them.

"You all heard Sir William," he said, in that deep, dangerous tone of authority the older men amongst them remembered well, and dared not challenge further. They knew only too well what Gisborne was capable of when his anger was aroused. "There are no rules being broken here, so I suggest we show some respect for our Sheriff, get on with the contest, and allow our last competitor to take her shots."

The outraged spectators melted away from Robin and Archer, and into a sullen silence.

"Thank you, my friend," Robin said to Guy in a low voice. "I'm in your debt once again."

"Someday I'll call you to account for all the debts you owe me," replied Guy with an amused smile. The crowd parted reluctantly, but they got well out of Sir Guy's way just the same, as he motioned Eleanor forward.

"She'll never win anyway, so what's the harm?" she heard one of them say.

"Aye, but it's still wrong. A girl!" said another.

Eleanor walked past them without a glance, and took up her position in front of the target. She'd show them up for laughing at her!

She looked at the target. It was further away, and seemed a bit smaller, than she was used to. For a moment her resolve faltered, but then she lifted her head proudly.

_I'm Robin Hood's daughter!_ she told herself. _I can do this!_

She fitted her first arrow to the string, quickly aimed, and shot. It hit very close to the center ring. The men and boys watched in stunned disbelief as her second arrow lodged even closer, within the center ring.

Her confidence restored, Eleanor aimed her third arrow, for the victory. But a treacherous gust of wind caught the arrow mid-flight, and it landed outside the center ring. There would be no bulls-eye for Eleanor today.

The winner, an older boy from Nottingham, took the silver arrow from the hand of the Sheriff, to the cheers of the crowd. A defeated Eleanor rejoined her father.

"Papa, I didn't win!"

"No, but you gave it your best, and that's what counts."

"The wind took my arrow. It wasn't my fault. I could've hit the center easily if not for that. Shouldn't I have gotten another shot?"

"I'm afraid not."

"But that's not fair, is it?"

"Yes, it is. You all took the same chance when you got up there to shoot. Sometimes things go our way, and that's good. But sometimes they don't. Circumstances that we have no control over come along and change the game for us."

"Not for you, Papa. You're Robin Hood! Everything works out for you!"

Robin chuckled. _Let's see,_ he thought. _Prince John became King John, King Richard wasn't all I once believed him to be, I couldn't save every abused peasant in Nottinghamshire, and I even had to finally admit that Marian was right about Guy's better side, so I couldn't kill him like I wanted to. No, things didn't always go my way in the past, and they still don't._

"If only that were true. No, Eleanor, things don't always go according to plan for me, either. Part of competing, part of anything in life, really, is learning to accept defeat, and to accept it graciously."

"It's hard, Papa. I wanted to win so badly, and show those men a thing or two for making fun of me."

"You did show them, and I'm proud of you for it. You were very brave to get up there and not let them intimidate you."

"You really think so?"

"Yes, I do. Besides, there's always next year."

"That's true." Eleanor smiled. "Next year…."

"Right now," said Robin, "there's another person who didn't win, either, and perhaps he could use a bit of cheering up, too."

"Rodger. I know." She sighed. "He did well though, didn't he? I have to say, I was almost impressed."

Robin threw back his head and laughed. Eleanor had taken a blow, but she would bounce back. She was a Locksley, after all.

_to be continued..._


	20. Chapter 20 A Bit of Him, a Little of Her

**A BIT OF HIM, A LITTLE OF HER**

"Anyone else as famished as I am?" asked Robin, as he, Marian, Guy and Meg wandered among the food vendor's stalls in Nottingham's marketplace. It was noon, the summer sun blazed overhead, and the marketplace and the inns were packed with hungry fairgoers.

"I could eat a horse—bones, hooves, tail, and all," responded Guy. "And drink a whole lake."

"Of water, or ale?"

"Ale, preferably."

"Let's get something here, and find a spot to eat in peace," suggested Marian. "Something a bit more appetizing than horse meat, if you don't mind."

They purchased several baskets of food and then retired, with a number of other families, to the sunny, grassy knoll just outside the city gate, away from the hot, dry dust and noise of the streets. Meg spread a blanket for their picnic, and the two couples sat down to the repast.

"Our children didn't want to join us? And where's Archer gone off to?" Robin wanted to know.

"Archer went to the Trip with Allan and Little John, and our children took John's orphans with them to watch the puppet show," answered Marian. She laughed. "After all the fuss Eleanor made about being too grown up for puppets and jesters, and it was her idea to invite the other children to go with her."

"Children grow up faster than they should," said Meg. "I'm glad that they can still play and have fun together."

"As long as it's not that kind of fun," quipped Robin.

"Oh, Robin!" said Marian, as she tossed a bread roll at him. He grinned and winked at her. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught Guy's enigmatic smile, and wondered what it meant.

_Rodger, and Eleanor? Surely not! They've been raised together. They tease each other, and fight and bicker, and in between are occasionally friends. _

It wasn't as if the idea had never occurred to her. Oh, it had, many a time. But it had always seemed unlikely to her that the two would ever be more than friends.

_Rodger and Eleanor. No, they would never—they're like brother and sister—aren't they?_

Marian looked over at Guy and Meg as they finished their meal. Guy lay on his back on the blanket, sprawled out with the feral grace of a tiger, his head pillowed on Meg's lap. He smiled up at his wife, his expression peaceful and relaxed in a way it seldom was, as she smoothed his hair from his face.

Guy was just over fifty years of age. A heavy sprinkling of grey strands now streaked through the long, silky black hair that slipped through Meg's gentle fingers. A few deep lines, of sorrow and loss and regret, had carved into his strong features over the decades. But for all that he was still a very handsome man.

Somehow, she and Guy had managed to live next door to one another for many years, with their respective mates, in relative tranquility.

'_I've loved you since the night we met,' he said to me at the celebration party in Locksley, just before he asked Meg to marry him, 'and I'll never stop loving you.' I wonder if he still—_

_No, I won't think of it. He never spoke of his feelings for me again after that night. He married Meg, and we left that part of our lives behind. _

Meg's abundant curls were still a rich chestnut brown, though her once slender figure had plumped up with the bearing of three children. She was as pretty and rosy-cheeked as the day she became Guy's young bride, arm in arm with him on the snowy steps of the church in Nottingham one December day nearly seventeen years ago.

_She loves him so much,_ thought Marian, _and she's been good for him. She's helped him in so many ways. She gave him her whole heart in a way I never could, and it's made him happy, as happy as he'll ever be in this life. And she's given him the children I couldn't. I can't have any more children, and if I'm honest about it, I don't want any more. Motherhood __comes naturally to Meg. It never did for me. Not that I don't love my daughter. I do, very much. _

Marian had never fully recovered from Vaisey's attack. The wound had healed, but it had weakened her. She'd given birth to Eleanor with great pain and difficulty. No more children had come along after that.

_Robin told me it didn't matter to him. He is satisfied with Eleanor as his daughter, and I'm thankful for it. _

_But Guy, he wanted a son to carry on his name. It would have mattered to him. If I had married him—_

She glanced over at Robin. He smiled in his familiar, mischievously boyish way, his deep blue eyes twinkling at her, and took her hand in his, and the momentary confusion was swept away.

_No, things are better as they are. I don't regret anything._

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"Here come our children," said Robin. "And they look hungry. Do we have enough food left?"

"There's plenty," answered Meg. "Did you like the puppet show, darling?" she asked Ghislaine as she caught her daughter in a hug.

"Oh, yes!" and Ghislaine went off into a lengthy description of the funny puppets and their adventures. Richard flopped down on the blanket next to his parents, and rummaged through the baskets of food.

Rodger and Eleanor, however, were still in dispute about the archery contest.

"I'd have won if not for that gust of wind, and you know it," she argued.

"You don't know that for sure."

"You're just mad 'cause you didn't win, either."

"I am not. I don't care that I didn't win."

"You're so bad at lying, Rodger. You couldn't tell a convincing lie to save your life. You wanted to win because you wanted to look good in front of Margaret. I saw her blow you a kiss!"

"Leave off about Margaret, already!"

Eleanor's response was a series of long drawn-out kissing noises, which served to fray, and finally snap, the last of Rodger's patience.

"All right, you asked for it, Eleanor!"

In a moment the two were in a tussle. They landed in a flailing heap, and rolled across the soft grass as they tried to pin each other down.

"You should've taught her your Nightwatchman moves, Marian," was Robin's languid remark at the spectacle.

Meg was busy getting Ghislaine something to eat, so Marian turned to Guy, urging him with an unspoken appeal to exert his authority and end the childish scuffle. But Guy was in a mellow mood, apparently, and disinclined to shift off the blanket to intervene.

_He's pleased with himself just now,_ thought Marian, with a rising annoyance, _because he silenced every man in that crowd who complained about Eleanor's participation in the archery contest. But that's Guy. Some things about him never change._

"Eleanor!" she called, when the fight dragged on to the point of ridiculousness. "Enough! No more of that! Come and have some dinner."

The two were on their feet now, but Rodger still had Eleanor grasped from behind in a bear hug.

"Take it back, Eleanor!"

"No!" she laughed, out of breath but defiant. "You can't make me!"

"I can, and I will!"

"Ouch! Stop it!" she cried as he lifted her off her feet.

"Rodger, enough!" Guy finally said. "Come sit down." Reluctantly, still laughing and breathless, the two sat down to eat.

Marian watched as Ghislaine finished her meal and got up to pick flowers, arranging them into a dainty bouquet to give to her mother. Her glossy black hair caught in the breeze and swirled about her face, which already held the promise of great beauty. Her dress, after a full morning at the fair, was still spotlessly white. She was a little lady, every inch of her—a picture of feminine grace and dignity at six years of age.

Marian looked back at her own daughter, and sighed. Eleanor, tall and boyishly slim, sat with her long legs folded under her in a most unladylike manner, and her dark hair falling in a messy braid. Her clothes were now stained with grass and mud. She was not as pretty as she had once been, nor as beautiful as she would become.

_There's far more of the child than the woman in her,_ thought Marian. _But rolling around with Rodger on the grass, wrestling with him? That __has to stop. She and Rodger are too old to play games like that. I won't spoil her fun today. I'll choose the right time to talk to her. But she needs to stop this business. It's not proper. She's a young woman now, not a little girl, and he's—_

She looked at Rodger as he sat near Robin. Robin was a man of good height, but Rodger nearly looked him in the eyes now. Though his frame was lean and wiry, his shoulders were broad. His mouth was more tender, less stern than Guy's. It was the only likeness to his mother, however. Otherwise, his face was a young copy of Guy's.

_Eleanor is a little version of me, with a good dose of Robin. Rodger is a fair bit of Guy, only softer, because of Meg. Our children. What if—the two of them together? It would be just like me and Guy all over again._

_No, not quite the same. God willing, our children will never have to go through what we did. Their lives will be better than ours…._

A trumpet blast from the direction of Nottingham Castle sounded in the distance, interrupting Marian's thoughts.

"There's the signal," said Robin. He stood up. "Everyone finished eating? It's time for the men's archery. Come on, Guy, let's show those young pups a thing or two. Show them you've still got what it takes."

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Most of the men and boys, and quite a few of the women and girls, had re-gathered at the archery range for the men's competition. Robin took his place once again as judge, while Guy joined the line of men trying for the silver arrow, and the title of best archer in Nottinghamshire.

As the second archer shot his last arrow, Robin saw them, father and son, and for a moment his heart leapt into his throat. Rowan watched from the crowd near the line of contestants. A boy of ten, or perhaps eleven years, stood beside him. Peter, Rowan's son.

After Rodger's encounter with the boy in the marketplace, Robin had made inquiries about Rowan's son. Along with his name, he'd learned that the boy had a reputation as a tough little scrapper who liked to hang out with older boys and cause mischief around Nottingham. Robin took in young Peter's sturdy body, hard fists, and pugnacious expression, and decided he was a lad who bore careful watching.

_I just hope they don't catch sight of each other, _thought Robin. _What __did Guy say—'If I get my hands on the man who told his son that story….' That's just what we don't need here today. We've already caused a stir by letting Eleanor be in the contest, but if Guy and Rowan were to see each other, I'm not sure what Guy would do. I'd like to think he's learned some wisdom and a measure of self-control over the years, but—_

While Robin bit his lip, measured the previous man's score, and fervently prayed for Guy and Rowan to be struck with blindness, Rodger, oblivious to the presence of Peter and Rowan, stood on the sidelines and watched as his father took his position. He thought back to how Father had silenced the angry crowd around Uncle Robin and Archer—silenced them with a word and a look.

_My father's amazing,_ thought Rodger, with a flash of pride, as he watched the man draw back his powerful longbow with practiced ease, aim, and strike the target near the center. Two more shots, one almost in the center, and he retired amongst the cheers of the spectators, none of whom, Rodger noticed, dared mutter against him again.

"Impressive shooting, for an old man, that is," Robin whispered to Guy as they passed each other. His playful insolence was rewarded with Guy's amused smirk and a thump on the back. Once upon a time, Robin had detested those smirks of Guy's, especially the sneering, scornful ones that came after some cruel pronouncement from Sheriff Vaisey. He'd wanted very badly, and occasionally had opportunity, to strike that look of contemptuous disdain off Guy's face with his fist.

But there was no longer any malice toward Robin in Gisborne's eyes, and no hatred in their hearts for each other. The witty repartee between them was all in fun now, and the two enjoyed it equally.

The rest of the bowmen took their turns. In the end, Guy placed a very respectable third place among the large field of contenders. The Sheriff shook his hand. Robin was relieved to see Rowan and his son disappear out of sight in the crowd, with Guy none the wiser. Meg went to Guy and hugged him, her eyes full of love and admiration for her husband. He bent and kissed her long and lingeringly in return.

Rodger watched them, with the new and slightly uncomfortable knowledge that Mother and Father were more than just his parents. He'd never thought of them in any other way, until recently. Now he saw them in a new light. They were husband and wife, lovers as well as friends.

'_Someday you'll fall in love too, Rodger, and marry and have a family of your own,'_ Mother had said.

Someday, years from now, he would be Sir Rodger, the Lord of Gisborne Hall, with his Lady by his side.

_Eleanor? _The thought intruded irresistibly.

_No, not Eleanor. _He flung the notion aside, and smiled to himself at the idea of marriage to Eleanor. How awful it would be! They would fight like cats and dogs! They'd kill each other!

_Never her. Not the way she taunts me and makes fun of me. No, I want someone who respects me the way Mother respects Father. _

After congratulating his father and excusing himself, Rodger turned and jostled his way through the crowd of spectators. His father, Robin, and Archer were meeting Little John and Allan at the Trip, while the women took the younger children and John's orphan charges to see the lions. It was his chance to fetch Starlight from the Sheriff's stable and ride him around the course in a practice run before tomorrow's race.

He strode toward the stable, where his family's horses were temporarily housed. He looked back before he slipped inside. Eleanor was not trailing him. Good, she'd gone with her mother. He wanted his entry in the horse race to remain a surprise, and he didn't need her spying on him.

He led Starlight from his stall, but Rodger was not as alone as he thought. He was being followed.

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"Yeah, that's him!"

"Rodger of Gisborne?"

"You know him?"

"Sure. I mean, a little bit. So you think his father's the one who—"

"I know he is! My father told me all about it. He was there when it happened."

"What has this got to do with Rodger?"

"I hate him!"

"Why? You don't even know him. What's your quarrel with him? He's nobody."

"Are you with me or not, Robert?"

"I don't know. If we get caught, we're in big trouble."

"Robert's right, Peter. If my father finds out, he'll skin the hide off me."

"You're chicken hearts, both of you!"

"Aw, shut up, Peter! You do it then! It's your fight. I've got nothing against Rodger, so why should I get myself in trouble for you?"

"Because we're a gang, we stick together, right? Right?"

"All right, fine. But we better not get caught."

"So, what's the plan? Should we jump him now?"

"No, lads, let's wait for a better time, when no one else is around. We'll wait 'til we get him alone."

"And then?"

"You'll see."


	21. Ch 21 The Swift Do Not Have the Race

**"THE SWIFT DO NOT HAVE THE RACE…."**

Rodger woke up the next day at the first light of dawn, hastily washed and dressed, and crept downstairs to the kitchen. Anna was lighting the fire to prepare breakfast.

"You're up early, Rodger," she said. "I haven't got any porridge cooked yet, but have some bread and butter."

"I'm not hungry, Anna, thank you just the same."

"Not hungry? Since when are you not hungry?"

He grinned at her and reached for the bread. Anna and her husband Reginald had worked for his family since he was a baby. She had attended his birth, in fact. He thus thought of her as a second mother, and it wasn't hard to imagine, because she often acted like one. He buttered a few slices and wrapped them in a cloth to take with him, in hopes that it would satisfy her before she took it into her head to check his fingernails and behind his ears to see if they were clean.

"Where are you off to so early?"

"Taking Starlight for a run." He dashed out the door before Anna could ask any more questions, went to the stable, and saddled his pony. Reggie came out from one of the stalls, pushing a wheelbarrow.

"Out for some exercise?"

"Yes. I-I'm headed to the fair."

"Without the rest of your family? It's a bit early, isn't it? Nothing's going on in town for hours yet."

"It's okay. I-I thought I'd give Starlight a good run first, you know? Work off his energy."

He squirmed in the saddle, reluctant to meet Reggie's frank gaze.

_Eleanor's right, I'm no good at lying. If Anna and Reggie don't stop __interrogating me, I'll blurt everything out and give away the surprise._

"Then we'll see you there, lad. The missus and I wouldn't pass up the horse race, you know that well enough."

Rodger smiled. "Neither would I," he said, as he turned his pony and rode out of the stableyard.

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"Rodger's left? So early?"

Meg stared out the front door of Gisborne Hall, in the direction of Nottingham, with her arms folded disapprovingly. Guy came up behind her and drew her into his embrace.

"Reg and Anna saw him off this morning at sunrise. He rode straight for town."

"Guy, is he up to something?" She turned to him. "You don't suppose he entered that horse race, do you?"

"What makes you think so?"

"He's been dropping hints lately about how fast Starlight is."

"Starlight is fast. Although Sir Henry's got himself a new mare who—"

"You know I don't want him in that race."

"If he did enter it, does it matter?"

"Guy, it's dangerous. Do you want to see our son get injured, or even killed?"

"You worry too much."

"Oh, excuse me, I'm only his mother."

"Now, Meg, relax. If he did sign up without our knowledge or permission, it's only a race. It's not a joust. There are no sharp, pointy objects involved."

"That's supposed to make me feel better?"

"It should."

"You're impossible."

"You're beautiful."

"Don't change the subject."

"Meg, the boy's growing up. He's only doing what all boys his age do."

"What? Entering dangerous contests?"

"No. Keeping secrets from his parents."

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The streets of Nottingham were quiet when Rodger arrived. Merchants and vendors were setting up their stalls, but only a handful of townspeople wandered aimlessly about while they waited for the day's festivities to begin.

Rodger rode Starlight at a slow canter around the racecourse, taking note of each turn and planning his strategy. He'd watched the races closely for the last several years, trying to figure out what separated the winner from the losers. It wasn't always the horse, he had observed, but its rider, who made the difference.

Some riders spurred their horses on with clumsy kicks and lashes with whips. Others knew how to get the most from their horse without resorting to such harsh incentives, and it was these men that Rodger admired and wished to emulate. He would never whip his pony. The very idea was repugnant to him. He and Starlight understood each other. They were perfectly in tune, and they were friends. They would win the race together.

He hung around the racecourse while he ate his bread and butter, and studied the other riders and their mounts. A few of the horses would never win any race, yet their owners paraded them up and down before the growing crowd of spectators with as much pride as if they had already won.

He saw many well-bred animals, too, but none, in his estimation, to compare with Starlight. One, perhaps, came close—a big chestnut mare. For a moment he felt stirrings of doubt about winning the race. The mare was long-legged, rangy, built for speed. Sir Henry of Mansfield, a breeder of fine riding horses and an acquaintance of the family, was the owner, so he assumed that the man's son Robert was to be the rider. So much the better. An excellent horse, by the looks of her, but matched with a poor rider. He'd seen Robert in the saddle before. He smiled. This evened up his chances a bit.

Rodger led Starlight to the starting line when he saw the judges appear. Other horses and riders followed. The crowd had grown in size by then. The people were now lined up several deep along the course. He scanned the crowd, looking for his family, but as he did so his gaze was caught by a boy, who was not Robert, leading the chestnut mare toward them. Their eyes met as the boy reached the starting line, and Rodger felt a shock of recognition.

It was the boy from the marketplace, the same one who had confronted him almost two years ago and called his father a murderer. He hadn't seen him again since that terrible day. The boy was older, taller, his face more mature, but in his eyes burned the same venomous hatred that Rodger remembered well.

He had no time to react or to speak a word to the other boy, however, for the riders were instructed to move their horses into position. The race was about to begin.

Starlight pawed the ground and snorted, his powerful muscles bunching under the saddle. Rodger had all he could do to hold him back. He looked across once again at the boy on the chestnut mare. The bright blue eyes glared at him, but the banner came down in that instant, and the line of horses surged forward.

Rodger held Starlight back as they rounded the first curve so that he could he survey the field of horses and riders. Some had already fallen well behind and stood no chance of catching up. He passed them easily and pulled up behind the tightly packed group of leaders.

The mare was among them. She was spirited, willing, eager to run, yet the boy whipped her mercilessly and without cause on her neck and flanks. Rodger wanted to tear the whip from the boy's hand and strike him with it. For a moment, the desire to win the race was forgotten in his fury at seeing the animal so cruelly abused.

But it was not only the poor mare who was to feel the sting. As Rodger pulled up between the chestnut and a man on a grey, a sharp pain lashed across his face. Startled, he flinched away. The reflex threw Starlight off balance and nearly cost Rodger his seat.

_A kicked-up rock?_ thought Rodger as he felt blood trickle down his cheek. No, for Starlight was the next one to be lashed, and this time Rodger saw the culprit—not a rock, but the boy with the hate in his eyes. Starlight slid to a halt and reared up. Rodger clutched wildly at his mane to keep from sliding off behind. Several other riders swerved to avoid colliding with them. As Rodger whirled his pony about, the boy turned his head and fixed him with a mocking sneer.

Rodger urged Starlight on, but his heart burned with bitter anger. There was no chance of catching up, he was well behind the leaders now, in amongst the also-rans.

But Starlight had other ideas. He picked up speed as they rounded the last turn. Rodger rose in the saddle, lying low over the pony's neck as Reggie had taught him. Faster and faster, hooves pounding across the turf, the gleaming black pony narrowed the gap. Soon, Rodger and the boy on the mare were in the lead. The finish line was just ahead. Neck and neck they thundered, until Starlight was ahead by a nose, then a full length.

As they passed the boy and the mare, however, he again struck out at them. The whip missed them this time, but it spooked Starlight, and slowed him down enough to allow the chestnut mare to cross the finish line first.

The crowd cheered the apparent winner. Rodger pulled his pony to a walk and patted his sweating neck, but his own face flushed with rage as he wiped the blood from his cheek.

_Did anyone see it?_ _Will anyone believe me if I tell them that boy hit me and my horse?_

There was no need, as it turned out, to convince anyone. A whispered conference took place between the judges, a group of spectators, and the Sheriff, while the boy lead the mare through the crowd, and ate up his ill-gotten glory.

A moment later the boy and Sir Henry were informed, in front of the whole crowd and by the Sheriff himself, that they had been disqualified for "poor sportsmanship". A couple of sharp-eyed spectators in the crowd, and one of the riders, had seen the first incident, and both the judges and the Sheriff had witnessed the second at the finish line. Rodger and Starlight were therefore declared the winners.

Rodger took his prize from the Sheriff, to the loud applause of the crowd, but his mind wasn't on the victory. He wondered if the defeated and publicly shamed boy would now confront him and start another fight. His stomach churned with dread, but his family closed in around him, and he felt safe once again. No one would dare threaten him while his father and Robin and the other men of his household were there.

"What was that all about?" Uncle Archer wanted to know.

"Rodger, your face!" cried his mother.

"I'm okay, Mother. It's nothing, just a scratch."

"Who is he, the boy who hit you?" Father demanded. "Do you know him?"

_Father doesn't remember him, _thought Rodger. _He doesn't recognize him. He saw him only for a moment in the marketplace. What would happen if—what if I were to tell him he was the same boy who—_

"No," Rodger quickly replied. "I don't know him." It wasn't altogether untrue. He didn't know the boy's name, after all.

"Why did he hit you?" asked Mother anxiously. "Why? Rodger, is there something you're not telling us?"

Uncle Robin looked sharply at Rodger, but to Rodger's relief, said nothing.

"Whatever his reason, Sir Henry will be furious that his best horse lost the race because of it," Robin said. "That's punishment enough for the lad. He'll never ride another horse in any race in Nottingham ever again."

"I should hope not!" said Aunt Marian. "What a thing to do! And that poor horse, too."

"Well, if you ask me, I think we should forget the little sneaking cheat, whoever he is, and celebrate Rodger's victory instead," said Archer cheerfully. "Rodger won the race fair and square, without cheating, and I'm proud of him. I'm sure the rest of you are, too. Even you, Meg. How about supper at the Trip tonight? My treat."

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Sir Henry shook his head in disgust as his fingers traced the painful welts that were rising on the mare's shining flanks. His most promising race horse. Now she danced about on the end of her lead, her eyes wide and rolling and her coat lathered in a sweat of fear. It would take months of patient work to settle her down before she could be entered in another race.

_A fine animal near to ruined, and my good name disgraced in front of the citizens of Nottinghamshire, and all because of that boy! _

He'd hired young Peter to work on his estate as a groom on the urging of the boy's aunt, who was employed as his wife's maid. She'd spoken highly of her nephew to Sir Henry.

"My brother Rowan's boy is a good lad," she'd insisted, "and clever with horses, sir. He just needs something to keep him out of mischief. You know how boys can be, sir. The town boys are a bad influence on him, a bunch of young ruffians they are, but I promise you he'll work hard and please you, sir."

Sir Henry had watched Peter on several occasions as he exercised the horses with the other grooms. Peter was a smallish lad, but strong and fearless on horseback, quite unlike his own son Robert, who, despite the best of teachers, had never been a confident rider. Peter had ridden three of Sir Henry's horses to victory in London and York.

_To think I was so impressed with his horsemanship that I considered letting him apprentice with my trainer. After today's disgrace? Never! _

He caught sight of Peter coming toward him, in company with Robert.

"You young imp!" Sir Henry bawled at Peter. "You're lucky I don't take a whip to you after that stunt you pulled. You lost me the race, and with my good mare, too."

"It wasn't my fault, sir," was the sullen reply. "It was that Gisborne brat. He—"

"Now you listen to me good. I don't know what sort of quarrel you've got with Sir Guy's son, and I don't care. You leave it home! You don't take it out on my horse and my good name! Go on, now, get out of my sight. You'll never ride one of my horses again, do you hear me?"

Peter scowled at him, and abruptly turned and stalked off, knocking into an equally angry Robert as he did so. Robert grabbed hold of his arm.

"I can't believe you were so stupid, Peter."

"Aw, shut up, Robert!"

"You could've won the race. You didn't need to whip her! You know my father won't stand to see his horses treated like that! He has every right to be angry with you. And what you did to Rodger—"

"I wanted to do it, okay? Showoff rich boy with his fancy horse!"

"My father sold that horse to his family. Starlight was our horse once. And my father and Sir Guy do business together, so I think you'd best lay off Rodger."

"What's his father going to do, kill me like he killed my grandfather?"

Robert shook his head and waved him away.

"If you hate him that much, then go right ahead, you and the rest of the gang. Beat the hell out of him if you want, but I'm backing out."

"Why, you scared you'll get caught?"

"You can disguise yourselves if you want, but he'll know it's you, Peter, and you'll be in big trouble. I'm not helping you. You don't deserve it. You're a cheat and a bully, and you're on your own in this one."

"Fine. Don't need you, anyway."

Peter tore his arm from Robert's grasp, shrugged his shoulders, and walked away. Robert rejoined his father. When he looked behind him, with a twinge of regret and disappointment, Peter had already disappeared.


	22. Ch 22 Nor The Mighty Ones the Battle

**"…. NOR THE MIGHTY ONES THE BATTLE"**

Half-way through supper, Rodger finally began to relax.

_I'm with my family and my friends,_ _so there's nothing to fear._

The talk around the several tables they occupied in one corner of the Trip centered on the victories achieved at the fair—Guy's third place win in the men's archery, Eleanor's daring try for the silver arrow, and Rodger's first place finish in the horse race.

Robin took a ribbing from nearly everyone for his choice to be a judge and not a contestant in the archery competition. Guy's smirk wasn't the only one he had to endure, nor was Guy the only one who twitted him about being "noble" for not taking the silver arrow once again. The teasing was most intolerable coming from Archer, who was nearly as good a shot as Robin.

"Why didn't you enter the contest, Archer?" countered Robin. "You could've won easily."

"What? And go up against my dear brother Guy?" answered Archer, with an accompanying affectionate slap on Guy's back. "Wouldn't dream of it. I respect him too much. Besides, I'm not a resident of these parts. This game's for you Nottingham lads."

He grinned at Eleanor. "And lasses," he added, as he extended his hand to her. Eleanor laughed and reached across the table to take her uncle's hand in a firm shake.

The subject of the boy who struck Rodger during the race did not come up again, to Rodger's relief. He wanted only to forget about him, and so, apparently, did everyone else.

His father hadn't recognized the boy as the same one he'd chased off in the marketplace. If Uncle Robin knew, and Rodger suspected that he did, he said nothing, and Rodger was thankful. The story of the murdered miner was not one that he wanted reopened.

Rodger did want to know more about his father's past, however, especially about his aunt Isabella, but she was the one topic his father avoided above all others. After the outpouring that day at the orphanage, his father had not been very forthcoming with much else, though Rodger plied him with questions at times when he seemed to be in a divulging mood.

Most of what he'd learned about his family in the last two years had come from Robin and Marian instead, and Allan a Dale. Now there was a story! Allan had acted as "Gisborne's man"? Right down to dressing like him? Rodger could scarcely imagine a more unlikely duo than his father and Allan, and yet they had once worked together for Sheriff Vaisey! Allan, for a time and for his own reasons, had betrayed his friends and cooperated with their enemies, which had angered Robin so much that he'd wanted to kill him!

It was so strange to picture this past life of theirs, now that they were at peace with each other. All the vengeful hate, the betrayals, the fights and near-killings, had happened between these people before he was born, but it was real and powerful, as real as the unbreakable bonds of friendship that now existed between them.

He looked around the table at those closest to him. Robin, the fearless leader of that small band of outlaws, who defied a brutal Sheriff and ended his reign of terror. Marian, who led her own crusade as the Nightwatchman. Little John and Much, loyal to Robin in the face of all dangers. Allan a Dale, who had come back to be with his friends once again.

And he thought of Will and Djaq, far away in Acre, whom he had never met except through the wonderful stories they told of them.

Rodger was proud to know these courageous, selfless men and women. He was proud of the shared history—his heritage from them—of their defense of the downtrodden of Nottingham, their generous, caring spirit and their love for justice. He looked forward, as he grew to manhood, to taking his place among them.

And, most of all, he was proud of his father—once Robin's hated enemy—who had joined up with the outlaws to bring down Sheriff Vaisey, and who then unmistakably demonstrated his determination to turn from his own bad course by facing his judgment with unflinching courage.

He had imagined that scene in the Great Hall many times since learning the story. He could see his father, in chains as he stood before King Richard, uttering not a word of either denial or excuse while his crimes were read out to the people of Nottingham.

'_What he did that day took more guts than holding Nottingham_'_s gate against our enemies at the siege,'_ Robin had said to him. '_He stood before the king's court and took full responsibility for his wrongs, knowing he would almost certainly be executed. I realized then that he was the bravest man I'd ever known, and I was proud to call him my friend.'_

Rodger was proud to be the son of Sir Guy of Gisborne.

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Robert of Mansfield had asked Eleanor of Locksley to dance with him that evening at the fair's closing festivities, and she'd said yes.

He smiled with anticipation as he walked the crowded main street of Nottingham late in the afternoon. There were plenty of other girls he could have asked, of course. They'd have given him a dance or two, and perhaps more if he were lucky, or persuasive. He knew how to be persuasive. He knew the right way to act, the right words to use. He'd had his way before with peasant girls from the villages, daughters of craftsmen and merchants in the town, and that very willing maidservant in his father's house, who'd been discreet enough keep her mouth shut about it afterward.

Those girls had been easy to persuade. Too easy, in fact. He'd grown bored with them. But Eleanor was different from the other girls. No coyly inviting smiles, no flirty glances from her. The woman in her was as yet slumbering. She, careless of dress and hair and feminine ways, was unaware even of her own beauty, which he could see would, someday soon, blossom into something truly breathtaking.

Eleanor demanded careful handling. She was the daughter of a nobleman, not a common strumpet in the street. He hadn't even kissed her yet. He'd worked hard to get her to agree to an innocent dance. Where would that dance lead? To a first kiss? And then what?

He would have to be patient. It would take time. But Eleanor would be his. He would be the one to awaken her womanly, passionate nature. Perhaps, if she pleased him, he'd even marry her eventually. He was sixteen. His father had been just seventeen, and his mother only Eleanor's age when they were married. And his future in-laws? None other than Robin of Locksley, the Earl of Huntingdon, and his wife Lady Marian. The prospect held great appeal. He stood to gain a pair of famous parents-in-law, and, as Eleanor was their only child, the full inheritance of the Locksley estate to add to his own.

Peter was the problem at present. If he would just keep away from Rodger! Robert knew Rodger as a casual acquaintance, but they were not friends. Perhaps it was because Rodger's name came up so frequently in his conversations with Eleanor. This irked him, even though she assured him there was nothing between her and Rodger other than friendship. Still, Rodger was Eleanor's friend, and as such, Robert saw the necessity, and the wisdom, of leaving him alone. If only he could get Peter to agree.

Robert often questioned why he sought out Peter's company in the first place. On the surface, they had nothing in common. He was the son of a wealthy former knight and the holder of a sizable estate, whereas Peter was the son of a carpenter and the grandson of a miner.

The first time he'd seen Peter, the boy and a couple of his cronies were playing a trick on a butcher in Nottingham. As the butcher wrapped up an order of meat for a customer, Peter distracted the man with questions, while his companions opened the package, smeared the meat with mud and manure, and wrapped it back up. The unsuspecting butcher handed the package to the unwitting customer as the three boys slinked off.

Robert caught them howling with laughter in a back alley. He knew it was a cruel trick, an underhanded joke at the butcher's expense, yet there was something so comical about it that he soon joined in their laughter, and fell in with their gang. Robert frequently accompanied his father on business in Nottingham, and on these occasions he had opportunity to hunt up Peter and the other boys, and join them in mischief-making and pranks of all kinds.

His own life, as the son and heir of a wealthy man, was tightly guarded and regulated much of the time, the course of his life already laid out in advance for him. Marry the girl approved by his parents, raise children, inherit the family lands, and run the estate. But he had no head for business, and no real interest in his father's beloved horses. He felt trapped and bored by it all.

Peter, on the other hand, was stubbornly disinterested in his father's carpentry business, and his mother had her hands full with Peter's younger siblings. He was therefore free to do as he pleased. It was this—Peter's disdain for rules and constraints, his apparently limitless freedom—that attracted Robert. His association with Peter gave him a taste of that envied freedom.

Peter was thirteen, nearly fourteen, but he was small and looked younger, and he used that to his advantage. A boy who people believed was only eleven or so could get away with more. Peter was clever, Robert had to admit, clever and cunning. But this drive for revenge for a grandfather he'd never known was something he couldn't understand. Why take it out on the killer's son?

Perhaps he ought to warn Rodger, since he was Eleanor's friend. Yes, it would be the right thing to do. That way, if Rodger chose to ignore the warning and suffered the consequences, it wouldn't be his fault, and Eleanor could have no cause to be angry with him. And if Rodger heeded the warning, Peter wouldn't find out who had tipped him off, for there would be no confrontation, and no chance for trouble.

Pleased with his decision, Robert walked toward the Trip, where Rodger and his family were eating supper. In sight of the inn, a young woman stepped out of the crowd toward him.

"Hello there, Robert!" she cooed. "It's been a while. Don't tell me you don't remember me?"

Remember her? How could he forget? The lovely daughter of one of Nottingham's castle guards. She'd been the first of his seductions, and one he looked back on with particular pleasure.

"Of course I remember you, Gwen."

She laughed and slipped her arm through his. He glanced in the direction of the inn. There was plenty of time. If he knew Peter, the boy would not risk confronting Rodger in broad daylight with his family nearby, not after his indiscretion at the race. He could warn Rodger later, at the dance. Besides, here was Gwen, who appeared to be in an accommodating mood. Just because Eleanor was as yet out of his reach didn't mean he had to live like a monk.

Unknown to Robert, from the shadows of a nearby building, Peter watched them as they strolled casually in the direction of Nottingham Castle, their heads together and Robert's arm around her waist.

_Gwen did her job well,_ thought Peter. _I'll remember to thank her later. _He snorted contemptuously. _As if I wouldn't guess he'd try to warn Rodger. But I can handle Robert easily enough. He fell for my trick._ _One twitch of her skirt and off he goes, the fool! Once Gwen finishes with him, all thought of warning Rodger will be driven completely out of his empty __skull. _

And Peter was right. By the time Robert and Gwen had caught up on old times, in a back room of the guard's barracks, Robert had quite forgotten Rodger of Gisborne.

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The town square, filled to capacity, reverberated with the sounds of the evening celebration. Off to one side, musicians were tuning up their instruments. Bonfires had been lit around the periphery of the square, and eager dancers were already circling the flames, laughing and shouting.

Meg, after much verbal wrangling, had finally convinced Guy to shed his heavy leather coat for a more festive outfit. She and Marian had new dresses for the occasion, and so did Eleanor. As the music began, Robert led Eleanor by the hand to the circle of dancers.

Rodger's eyes followed her. Her dress was a warm shade of red. It fit closely in the bodice, but flared out at the hem and swirled around her ankles. Her hair, which Rodger seldom paid attention to as it was usually in a plait or piled messily on her head, now fell loosely down her back, thick and wavy, shimmering a rich, deep brown in the light of the fire, and crowned by a coronet of summer wildflowers.

Her partner clasped her about her slim waist, and she met Robert's eyes with a look Rodger had never seen on her face before. Robert's arm tightened possessively around Eleanor, and Rodger took note. His eyes narrowed as he watched them, and a new feeling awoke in his heart, part protectiveness, part—dare he admit it?—jealousy.

He told himself it was absurd to feel so. Eleanor was free to dance with anyone she chose. But why Robert? He'd never liked Robert of Mansfield, for reasons he could not explain. He had no great hankering for his sister, either, despite Eleanor's teasing, and despite the fact that Margaret was now inching her way toward him, favouring him with her honey-sweet smile in hopes that he would ask her to dance.

"Hello, Rodger!" Her greeting was followed by the inevitable giggle, and Rodger cringed inside. He knew what was expected of him as a gentleman—take her out for at least one dance. Okay, he could do that much. She was pretty, there was no denying that. If only there were more to her than her looks. Now Eleanor, she had a certain tang to her, a keen intelligence and ready wit that added spice to their relationship, platonic though it was.

"You were just wonderful in the archery contest yesterday," Margaret continued. "You shot your arrows so well. You must be so strong." She sighed. "Did you see me? I cheered for you."

Rodger hadn't seen her, but he'd heard all about the kiss Margaret supposedly blew at him.

"No, I'm sorry, but I didn't," he answered honestly.

She turned her rosebud mouth down in disappointment, but only for a moment. Her hands grasped his arm. He was startled and wanted to pull away, but he stopped himself. It would be rude. She was a young lady, after all.

"Oh, but Rodger, I heard what happened at the horse race! You could have fallen off! That nasty Peter! I don't like him at all. My father is so angry with him, and so is my brother. Are you okay? You've got a cut on your cheek!" She reached up to caress his face.

"Margaret, would you do me the honour of dancing with me?"

"Oh, yes!" Her wide blue eyes looked up at him adoringly, and he immediately regretted the request. Still, if he could keep her busy with the dance steps, there would be less opportunity for her to paw him any further.

Eleanor spotted them, as he expected, and flashed him a wide grin and a wink as he placed a tentative hand around Margaret's waist. Her hands, not so shy as his, went over his shoulders, and she pressed her body up against him as they circled the fire. Rodger soon began to sweat, and not just from the warm summer night or the bonfire. Perhaps dancing with Margaret wasn't such a good idea after all.

He gulped with relief as the dance ended. Eleanor left her partner to join up with Rodger, who had extricated himself from Margaret's clutches and sent her off to giggle and whisper with her girlfriends.

"That sure looked cozy," she remarked, her eyes sparkling with merriment.

"Same to you," he replied, his mouth twisted in a smirk.

"You dance wonderfully, Rodger, for someone who hates to dance."

"I'm a good boy, Eleanor. My mother trained me well."

She laughed. "And such a gentleman, too, to dance with Margaret. So, who's next? The same charming and lovely partner again, so she can get another feel of your big, broad shoulders?"

"You're going to pay for that."

"I tremble in fear before your wrath. Seriously, my dear, who's next? There's Bernice, over there by Robert. Oh, and there's Maeve. How about her? She's very pretty."

Rodger caught Eleanor's smile as she turned back to him. Her eyes were a warm green, flecked with golden brown. The soft ivory curves of her face, her nose with its dainty upturn, and her full lips, looked so different to him with the lustrous hair flowing around her features instead of pulled sharply back in a stiff plait. He stared at her as if seeing her for the first time as a young woman, and not the rough and tumble tomboy companion of his childhood.

_She's beautiful,_ thought Rodger. _Never mind Margaret._ _Eleanor is beautiful. How come I never noticed before? _

"You're beautiful," he said out loud, without thinking.

The green eyes went wide with surprise.

"I-I mean, y-you look very nice," he stammered. His face flushed to his hairline. Eleanor looked away, but not before she caught something in those intense blue eyes that suddenly made her feel as shy as he.

"Why, Rodger!" she said archly, after a moment's awkward silence and a chance to regain her composure. "How kind of you to say so. Thank you! It must be the new dress. Do you like it?" She swished the skirt around playfully.

"Very lovely, my dear," he replied in the same tone of voice, and the momentary embarrassment at the blunder subsided as they both laughed.

"I'll take this opportunity to ask the same question back," said Rodger. "Who are you dancing with next? Are you already spoken for?"

"Not yet. Why?"

"I'm considering asking you, if you'll have me."

"I would be honoured, Sir Rodger of Gisborne, if you're actually asking me and not just considering it."

He smiled and gave her a bow. "The honour is mine, Lady Eleanor of Lockley, as long as you don't yell at me if I step on your toes."

"In those great big stomping boots of yours? I will yell, and loudly, so you'd best have a care for my toes!"

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"Oh, shut up about the race already. Who cares?" Peter snarled at Robert.

"My father cares! He'll never ask you to ride his horses again, I can tell you. I've never seen you take a whip to a horse before. What got into you, anyway?"

"I won the race for him, didn't I? If the judges hadn't—"

"They did see, so no, you'd didn't win. You as much as handed the victory over to Rodger." Robert glared down at Peter, his face tight with anger.

Peter shrugged, looked out over the crowd of dancers, and turned back to Robert with a smile.

"Before you say anything more about me, Robert, you'd better have a care for your own interests."

"Are you threatening me? Because if you are—"

"No threat. It's real. Look."

"What? Is that—what is he doing?"

"Stealing your girl, I'd say. First your sister, now Eleanor."

"He can't dance with her! He knows Eleanor's mine!"

"Well, he is. Right in front of you, too. He's got your girl, Robert, and it looks as though he's rubbing it in your face."

"No!"

"So, you still mad at me, or do you want to do something about that snot-nosed Gisborne bastard instead?"

"He can't do that! Eleanor's my girl! If I get my hands on him—"

Peter snickered. Robert was so easy. "Come with me. I've got a plan."

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"Oh, Mama, really! You are too ridiculous!"

Eleanor and her mother sat together on Eleanor's bed late that evening. The fair, the dance, all were over for another year, but Eleanor's heart was light, her feet still dancing. Now Mama was trying to ruin everything by another lecture!

"Eleanor, listen to me. You need to be careful."

"Is this about Robert? He's nice! I like him!"

What was it Robin had said? '_It's just a crush, Marian. She'll get over it. Robert's harmless enough. And she'll likely fall in love a few dozen more times before she grows up and finds her true love.'_

Marian wasn't so sure, about either Robert's harmlessness or her daughter merely having a crush on him. But he wasn't her immediate concern. Eleanor saw Robert only occasionally, whereas Rodger….

"Oh, no, don't tell me this is about Rodger. We only danced, Mama, and it's Rodger. Rodger! He's like my baby brother!"

"He's not your brother, Eleanor, and he's hardly a baby anymore. He's growing up, and so are you. And what you were doing yesterday, well, you're too old to be playing those sorts of games. It was okay when you were children, but—"

"Do you mean because we wrestled a bit? That was nothing!"

But Eleanor's face betrayed her as she remembered Rodger's arms encircling her, holding her in a way that she now saw was not entirely brotherly. The sudden realization of his strength, far greater than her own, as he lifted her off the ground, had frightened her, and yet—

"Perhaps it wasn't anything to you, but Rodger's not a little boy. You may not think of him as anything but a brother right now, but in the future, when you're both older—what I mean is—"

"You can't be serious! Rodger? I would never be interested in him!"

"Why not?"

Marian could have bit her tongue in half after saying those words.

_I thought it was all over between Guy and myself, but here it is, come back to haunt me. My daughter, who is so much like me, and Guy's son, so much like him. Is this really, deep down, what I want? For her and Rodger to grow up and fall in love and marry? _

_Yes, it is what I want. Why can't I admit it to myself? And I know why I want this—to set things right with Guy through them. _

"Because, because—I don't know!" Eleanor cried as she rose from the bed and looked down at her mother. "I never think of him that way. And I'm sure he doesn't like me that way, either. I can't believe you, Mama! You've gone and spoiled everything!"

Before Marian could say anything more, Eleanor ran from the room and down the stairs. Marian sighed and rubbed her hand over her tired eyes. As she heard the front door open, and then slam shut, she wondered if she'd already said too much.

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The dance, the feasting, were over. The Nottingham fair was over for another summer. The taverns were still full. Rodger, as he walked the main street, steered clear of the boisterous men who stumbled from the front entrances of those taverns and passed out in the dust, to the laughter of their equally drunk comrades. He was on his way to his grandfather's house.

It had been a good day, a satisfying day, despite the unsettling encounter with the Nottingham boy. A welt was rising on his cheek from the boy's whip, but it would heal. He'd won the race, he and Starlight.

He walked slowly, lingering in the warm glow of the lamp lights shining through the windows of the dwellings that lined the street. It was so seldom that he was alone, without family or friends around. His parents had gone home hours ago, and his grandfather and Jane weren't expecting him until late. He had all the time in the world.

He'd danced with Eleanor, and enjoyed it very much. Maybe there was nothing, after all, between her and that Robert of Mansfield. She deserved better. Not him. No, she would never care for him that way. But someone more worthy than Robert, at least.

He rounded the corner of the street. Four figures stepped out from the shadow of a building, and moved toward him.

He smiled politely and nodded. Then he stopped, stared, and started to walk rapidly away from them.

The four boys had other ideas. Rodger was soon surrounded.

"You're out late, Rodger of Gisborne," said Robert, in a voice that was anything but friendly. "And all alone, too."

"Robert." Rodger drew himself up to his full height. "Yes, it is late, so if you'll excuse me, I'm headed for my grandfather's house."

"That right?" mocked the boy from the race track, the one who had called his father a murderer. He stepped up to Rodger and shoved him in the chest. "You remember me?"

"What do you want?" Rodger felt a cold finger of fear curl around his heart and squeeze his gut painfully.

"I want you to pay, you bastard."

"Just leave me alone!"

"Leave you alone? Listen to him, lads. The baby wants us to leave him alone. Know what? I don't think so, not just now. You've got some business with us first, son of Gisborne."

"You've caused enough trouble for me already."

"I haven't even started yet, sissy boy!"

Rodger's arms were grabbed from behind by two of the boys. He had never seen either of them before, but they were brawny and nearly as tall as himself. One, perhaps, he could have shaken off, but not both. He struggled against them, while Peter sneered and Robert stood, silent and passive, to one side.

"Robert!" Rodger appealed. "Tell them to let me go!"

"He's not gonna listen to you," answered Peter, his chin thrust out aggressively. "You stole his girl."

"I never stole Eleanor! Robert, I only danced with her. We're friends, nothing more!"

Robert did not answer him. Peter went on. "And you tried to make a fool of me. You never will again, not after I'm done with you. Hold him tight, lads. It's payback time, Gisborne!"

The first blow hit him in the stomach. The wind rushed from his lungs. He doubled over in pain, but his head was snapped back by a fist under his jaw. Light exploded as Peter's hard fist connected with his left eye. Another blow to the stomach, then another. The pressure on his arms suddenly released, and he collapsed to the ground.

"All right, Peter, enough," he heard Robert say. The voice sounded faint and far away through the dull roar in his head. "You made your point. Leave him be."

Rodger couldn't move, could hardly breathe, but it wasn't over. He gasped in agony as a hard boot bashed against his ribs. The salt taste of blood filled his mouth. Hot fury surged through him, but before he could summon the strength to pull himself up and face his tormentors, the boot smashed him in the ribs again. Sharp pain radiated out from his chest. He gulped, but his lungs were empty of air, and soon, merciful darkness closed in on him.

"I think you killed him, Peter," murmured one of the boys as they gathered around Rodger's prone and bleeding form crumpled in the street.

"No, he's just out. The baby can't take it. He's a weakling, is all."

"He's not moving. I don't like this. You shouldn't have hit him so hard. What if he is dead?"

"Good enough for him."

"That'd make you a murderer, Peter."

"Aw, shut up! He's not dead, stupid!"

"Let's get out of here before someone comes."

"We shouldn't leave him here, it isn't right," said Robert.

"And do what, Robert?" scoffed Peter. "Take him home and nurse him? Come on, let's go. Fun's over."

He gave the limp body another vicious kick before he strode off down a dark alleyway, followed by his gang. Only Robert looked back over his shoulder at the injured and unconscious boy lying in the street. He hesitated for just a moment before he, too, disappeared back into the shadows.


	23. Chapter 23 A Score to Settle

**A SCORE TO SETTLE**

Rodger could hear voices. All else was dark and dim and far away. He felt as though he floated on a waveless sea under a black sky devoid of stars, drifting aimlessly. There was no pain, no fear. There were only voices. They faded in and out, muted and indistinct. They were talking about him, and to him.

"Rodger….hear….darling?"

_I can hear you, Mother._

"Answer—squeeze my—hand….try, please try!"

_I want to, Mother, but I can't. I'm so tired._

"Did this—you? Tell us!"

_Father. Where am I? What's happening to me?_

"Guy….don't think….hear you."

_I can, Uncle Robin, I can! _

"—God! Please, Rodger, wake—!"

He heard the heavy sobs of a man's inconsolable grief, and then the plaintive weeping of a woman.

_Mother? Father? Why are you crying? I'm here! Aren't I? Maybe I'm not. Maybe I'm dead. No, I can't be. I wish they'd stop talking at me now. I want to sleep…._

One by one the voices faded away into silence.

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Rodger did not regain a full measure of consciousness until the afternoon of the following day. He stirred, sighed, and slowly opened his eyes. He was lying in bed. It was not his own bedroom, and yet the room, softly lit by candles, was familiar, and someone was holding his hand. He turned his head, and the first face he saw was his mother's.

"Mother."

He didn't recognize his own voice. It came from his parched lips as a harsh, dry croak.

"Rodger, darling, oh, thank God you're awake!"

"What—what—where am I?"

"You're at your grandfather's. Do you remember?"

_Of course. I was walking to Grandfather's house and—ow! What's wrong with my eye?_

He reached up toward his face, but Mother took his hand, pulled it back to her, and clasped it tight.

"Don't touch your eye, Rodger. Wait until the swelling goes down."

_Swelling?_ He attempted to sit up, but intense pain wracked his body from head to foot. He clutched at his abdomen and his chest, and, with a deep groan, eased himself back down.

"Lie still, dear! You're hurt. Don't try to get up. Guy, come here, he's awake."

Father, his face pale and his eyes exhausted, bent over him and took his hand.

"Do you remember anything, anything at all, son?"

_Remember anything…._

"Guy, please don't question him now."

"We have to find out who did this to him!"

"Wait until Robin comes back, at least. Where is Matilda?"

"Right here, Meggie, dear."

Matilda's warm, soothing hand stroked his brow. "How are you feeling, lad?"

"I'm thirsty, and I hurt real bad."

"Of course you do. You took quite a pounding, my boy. You must be made of tough stuff. Here, drink this, it will help."

_A pounding? Oh, yes, I remember now. There was this boy—_

She held a cup to his mouth, and he drank its contents down with a wrinkled nose.

_Must be one of Matilda's remedies—effective but nasty._

The sweet fruit could not quite disguise the bitter aftertaste. He choked on the last few drops, sending fierce spasms down his chest.

"Let him rest a bit longer, Sir Guy," he heard Matilda say. "He hasn't come fully 'round yet. When his head's clear it'll be time enough to ask him questions. See if he wants something to eat. Just a few mouthfuls, mind you."

When Meg returned with a bowl of soup a short time later, Rodger had already fallen asleep.

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"I was walking here when they surrounded me. There were four of them, I think."

Father and Uncle Robin sat on either side of him. At the foot of the bed stood Archer. Rodger peered at them through one eye. The other was swollen shut. Both the physician and Matilda had looked carefully at Rodger's eye, however, and agreed that it would heal with time, as would the dark bruises that ran the length and breadth of his body.

The cracked ribs, and there were several of them, hurt worst of all. Mother and Matilda fussed with the arrangement of his pillows and blankets until Rodger could lie in tolerable comfort. Then the two women went downstairs to reassure Sir Wallace and Jane, and send word to their respective households in Locksley village.

News of the attack on Sir Guy and Lady Meg's son had already spread throughout Nottingham, to the family's dismay, but there was no keeping it secret. Rodger had been found by a group of men returning home from a tavern. One of them had recognized Gisborne's son, despite his bruised and bloodied face, and carried Rodger to his grandfather's house. Robin and Guy questioned the men afterward, but there were no eyewitnesses to the assault.

"Who were they? Do you know them?"

"Two of them I've never seen before. One I know, but the fourth—I don't know his name. He—he was the boy from the horse race, the one who hit me."

"Peter." Robin shook his head and grimaced.

"Who?" said Guy. "You know this boy, Robin?"

"Yes. He's Rowan's son."

"Rowan," Guy muttered. "Rowan. Where have I heard that name before?" He stared at Robin. "Wait. Is he—the same one who—Rodger, is he—"

"He's the boy I had a fight with in the marketplace, after he said you killed his grandfather."

"Why didn't you say something to us about this? Did you have words with him after the race?"

"No, I only saw him from a distance, at the dance."

"Who was the other boy who ganged up on you?" asked Archer. "You said you knew him."

When Rodger didn't answer, his father gripped his shoulder. "Rodger, you have to tell us."

"It-it was Robert."

"Robert? Sir Henry's son?"

Rodger nodded.

"Why? What was he doing there?"

"He said I stole Eleanor from him. Or maybe Peter said it. I can't remember."

Robin snorted. "Stole Eleanor from him? As if my daughter is anyone's property. Robert has no claims to her!"

"I only danced with her, Uncle Robin. I wasn't trying to steal her from anyone. We're friends, that's all."

"Rodger, did Robert hit you, too?" said Archer.

"I don't think so, it was just Peter. He said he was going to make me pay, and then the other boys held my arms, and he started to hit me. I asked Robert to help me, but he stood there and watched. They let go of me and I fell on the ground, and Peter started kicking me. I must have blacked out after that. I don't remember anything more."

The three men looked at each other, their faces somber.

"Should the Sheriff be called in on this?" asked Archer.

"Absolutely!" answered Guy vehemently, but Robin shook his head.

"We can't let them get away with this!"

"We won't, Guy, but let's not go to the Sheriff yet. It's late. We all need some rest. Let's wait until tomorrow, and then decide."

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Robin and Marian returned to Locksley, while Guy and Meg stayed with Rodger. Early the next morning, a servant arrived from Sir Wallace's house. Rodger had eaten a little food, he told them, and was now resting and doing as well as could be expected, but Lady Meg wished to speak with them as soon as possible about an urgent matter.

Both Robin and Marian had a good idea what the "urgent matter" was about. They finished their breakfast hastily, secured Eleanor's promise that she would cooperate with Anna to care for the other children, and rode to Nottingham. Meg met them at the door.

"Archer is with Guy," she told them. "They're in the back garden."

The mask of calm fell away as tears filled her eyes.

"Robin, please help! I don't know what to do with Guy. He's so angry! I've never seen him like this. I'm afraid of what he will do. He wants to go to Rowan's house and confront him. I've begged him not to, but he won't listen to me."

_When Guy won't listen to Meg, there's real trouble,_ thought Robin.

He looked into Meg's anxious face, her frightened eyes, and understood her fear. The man threatening violence against Rowan and his son was not the man Meg had married. This man was a stranger to her, but not to Robin.

_When she met Guy, he was locked up in prison awaiting execution. A broken man, weak from hunger and torture, humbled and deeply remorseful. He found his courage after that, joined up with us, changed his ways, and became her hero, and that's how he's been all these years since._

_But the man out in the garden with Archer? This is the side of Guy she never knew, the way I remember him when he was Sheriff Vaisey's lieutenant. A coldhearted, brutal, dangerous man who, under Vaisey's orders, had people tortured and killed. The man who terrorized villagers and took everything they owned for the Sheriff's unjust taxes. This is the man who could thrust a sword or a knife into another man and walk away without a backward glance. _

_Guy has fought hard to put that man behind him. Is he now about to lose the fight, and go down that same dark path again? _

_No, I won't let him, for Meg and his children's sake if not for his._

"Marian, stay here with Meg. I'll see what I can do."

"Let me talk to him, Robin."

"No, Marian, not this time."

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Robin walked out to the back garden of Meg's father's house. The lovely, serene setting—the rows of heavily laden fruit trees and tidy beds of herbs and flowers—stood in sharp contrast to the raised voices of Guy and Archer, deep in a heated argument.

"To hell with him and his son!" he heard Guy say. "I don't care what Sir Henry thinks, or what he does with that idiot son of his. He's not my concern right now. It's Rowan and that bastard—"

"Robin!" Archer turned to Robin, his face radiating an expression of relief. "See if you can talk some sense into our brother before he does something crazy."

"I don't need anyone talking sense into me," Guy snarled. "I can bloody well think for myself. And enough with this pointless discussion. We need to do something now!"

"Guy, where are you going? If you're—no, don't! Wait one minute!" Robin grabbed for his arm, but Guy shoved him away.

"Robin, do _not_ tell me what to do! You either, Archer!" he shouted, pointing a finger at each of them in turn.

"Guy, I'm just asking you to—"

"My son is lying in there, Robin! My son! You expect me to just take it? Say nothing, be all forgiving and let it go?"

"Guy, listen to me. No, stop yelling and listen. Have you forgotten that I have a child, too? What if it were Eleanor, if she'd been beaten up, or worse? And, no, I'm not suggesting you just let this go. I'm asking you to wait until we think this through."

"What is there to think about? That boy and his gang beat my son half to death!"

Robin took hold of Guy's shoulder in a strong grip as the man once again started to walk away. Robin felt him tense, and glimpsed the dark fury in his eyes. He wondered how much of that fury might possibly translate into rash actions, and how much was bluster. One never knew with Guy. He was as unpredictable as he was volatile. He tried to pull his arm from Robin's grasp, but Robin held on tenaciously and forced Guy to stop and look him in the face.

"Rowan needs to be confronted, I agree. He needs to know what his son has done. And so does Sir Henry. And there needs to be action taken to punish the ones responsible. I don't disagree with you. But if you go over there in a fit of anger, nothing good will be accomplished. Please, Guy! For once, stop and think before you act!"

"You don't know what you're asking me."

"Yes, I do. Don't do this. It won't solve anything. You know as well as I that there'll be no end of trouble that will come of it. Don't do this to Meg, to your other children."

Guy clenched and unclenched his fists, and fixed Robin with a murderous glare. But Robin saw past it. Guy was not angry with him, or Archer. He was angry at Rowan, at Peter, and most of all, he was angry at himself—the outraged father of an innocent boy who had been cruelly punished for his father's past sins.

_That's Gisborne, _he thought, with a pang of pity and understanding. _Always_ _thinking with his heart instead of his head. Rodger is hurt, yes, but both Matilda and the physician agree that he will recover. Guy and I have suffered worse. We've done worse to each other. Rodger's a strong lad, he'll get through it, but not if his father goes off on some out-of-control vengeful rampage— _

"Don't go over to Rowan's house right now. As your friend and your brother, Guy, I'm asking you. Don't do it."

Guy stared at him wordlessly, hung his head for a moment, and then slammed his fist against the wall of the house in impotent rage.

_He'd like to bury his fist in my face right about now,_ _and Archer's face, too, just to relieve his frustration, before he runs off to Rowan's house and wrecks havoc there. But I won't allow it, for his own good. If Archer and I have to take him down and sit on him, or tie him up, then by God we will. _

"Guy, listen, before we involve the Sheriff or anyone else, let me go over to Rowan's house. We can both talk to Sir Henry if you like, but for now, let me deal with Rowan and Peter. Stay here with Archer and look after your son. I'll be back soon, and we'll go from there. Are we agreed?"

There was a long, sulky silence, before Guy finally nodded a reluctant acquiescence. Robin left him in Archer's care. He walked out onto the street in the direction of Rowan's house, and, with a heavy sigh, wondered for the hundredth time what he had gotten himself into when he made a friend and brother of Guy of Gisborne.

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**Author's Note:** My apologies, dear readers, for the delay in getting this chapter up, after leaving you with a cliffhanger last time! I've had company for several days, been out of town for several more, and am now quite sick with some weird virus. This chapter is largely the product of a feverish brain, so I hope it makes sense! The next chapter will be a continuation of this one, and I will try to get it written and posted a little quicker. Thank you all for reading, and for your patience!


	24. Chapter 24 An Inheritance of Hate

**AN INHERITANCE OF HATE**

Robin arrived at Rowan's house, a sturdy, two-storied structure tucked in amongst its neighbours near Nottingham's east gate. Attached to the house was Rowan's carpentry shop. He peeked in the door of the shop. No one was inside, so he went to the house and knocked.

After his father Dunne's untimely death, Rowan's mother had urged him to get out of the dangerous work in the mines. Rowan had thereafter found employment with a carpenter in Nottingham. The man, an elderly widower with no children, had taken Rowan as his apprentice, and, some years later, had bequeathed him the business and the house.

Robin knew Rowan to be an industrious worker. To all appearances his business was thriving as a result, enabling him to support a growing, though not always harmonious, family. Robin had met Rowan's wife once, when she and Rowan had been married less than a year, and remembered her as a little, dull brown mouse of a woman, already heavily pregnant, and not particularly happy about it.

He screwed up his face as the deafening clamor of several screaming children emanated from the other side of the door. Rowan's wife opened to his second knock. She had a baby on her hip and a toddler clinging to her skirts. Her tired eyes looked Robin over without much interest.

To his inquiries, she answered that Rowan was with a customer, but she expected him back soon. Would he like to wait inside? Robin declined, and told her he would wait by the shop. The quick glimpse he'd gotten of the interior of the house—dirty clothes and dishes strewn about, bickering children, and general chaos—was not appealing.

He went back to the shop. Rowan's workspace was as clean and organized as his house was messy. Tools hung in orderly rows on the walls, boards were stacked neatly in one corner. He wondered if Rowan was naturally tidy, or if his well-arranged workshop was his escape from the noisy disorder of his home life.

A few minutes later, Rowan came around the corner of the house.

"Robin of Locksley," he said. "My wife told me you were here."

"Rowan, it's been a while." The two men shook hands. "Are you and your family well?"

"Quite well, thank you. So, what brings you here today?"

"I'm on business, about your son. Is he home?"

"My son? Which one? I've got three."

"Peter."

"Peter? He's not here. I don't know where he is right now. He was working for Sir Henry, over in Mansfield, but there's been some sort of problem recently about a horse—"

"Rowan, if you're referring to the horse race, I was there. I saw what happened."

"Oh." Rowan shifted uneasily. "Well, about that, Robin, I think there was some sort of misunderstanding—"

"There was no misunderstanding. Your son hit Rodger, Sir Guy's son, and was disqualified from the race. I don't know if he is still in Sir Henry's employment right now, but I doubt it."

Rowan's cordial smile faded away, and his bright blue eyes darkened into a suspicious frown.

"Why are you really here, Robin?" he asked curtly. "Come on, do you think my son is the only boy in Nottingham who hasn't gotten into mischief before? Yes, okay, I heard he pulled some pranks on a few people. That's why I wanted him to take this offer from Sir Henry. My sister got him the position. We thought it might keep him out of trouble."

"I'm sorry to say that your son is in more trouble now. He's been involved in something more than a prank."

"Is this about the race? Listen, if—"

"No, it's more serious than that now."

"What are you talking about?"

Robin told him. Rowan stared and grew pale, first with fear, and then with indignation.

"You think my Peter did that? How do you know? What makes you think Gisborne's son isn't making it up, to get my boy in trouble? Or maybe his father put him up to it!"

"Rodger didn't make it up."

"Then he must have done something to start the fight—"

"No, Rowan, he didn't. And it wasn't a fight. Your son and three other boys ganged up on Rodger. Your son beat him senseless and left him lying in the street."

"No. I know he's done some bad things, but he wouldn't—"

"He did. I came over here to tell you and to talk to you before any action is taken."

Rowan's face grew anxious. He hesitated before replying, "What action? Robin, what are you saying?"

"Are you not hearing me? Your son beat up a boy, Rowan, a boy who could not defend himself! It's more than a black eye. He kicked Rodger so hard it broke his ribs—"

"No! My Peter? No." He shook his head vigorously. "I know he can be a bit of a scamp, but this?" Rowan paced about the shop, absently picking up tools and setting them down. "No. There must be some mistake. This can't be right. Gisborne put his boy up to this, didn't he, just to get to me!"

"If you don't believe me, you can come see the lad yourself, though I don't recommend it. As it is, I had all I could do to keep Gisborne from marching straight down here and dragging both of you to the Sheriff."

Rowan stopped his pacing, and abruptly turned on Robin.

"You're on his side, aren't you?" he cried. "How can you be friends with a man like that, Robin? What's happened to you? You used to stand up for us, and now you're one of them!"

"One of whom, Rowan? I'm not taking sides here. A crime has been committed, by your son. He's still a young boy, and you're his father. That makes you responsible to control what he does. Peter has a reputation around town for making trouble. Whether or not you were aware of that before, you know it now. And it's more than a prank this time. Gisborne can have him arrested. He has every right to. His son was badly beaten, for no other reason than that he is his son."

Robin took hold of Rowan's shoulder, his own anger rising at the man's willful denial. "Listen to me. This has to stop! I understand you're upset about what happened to your father—"

"And why shouldn't I be? He was murdered by Gisborne, right in front of me!"

"I'm not saying you shouldn't be angry. It was a great injustice. I'm not asking you to forgive Guy for what he did. I'm only asking you to consider this—you've passed your bitterness on to your son, and he's taken it out on an innocent boy. Rodger is not answerable for his father's wrongs, but your son is for his, and so are you. I'll give it to you straight. Guy has every right in the eyes of the law to press charges against you and Peter. He could have you both arrested and put in prison. Now, I'm doing everything I can to prevent that from happening, because I don't want to see things go that far."

Rowan walked to the far end of the shop and stared down at his work bench.

"All right," he muttered. "I'm sorry about what happened to the boy, okay, and if my lad Peter did it, as you say, and I'm not at all convinced that he did—but Gisborne? You expect me to feel sorry for him? He killed my father!"

"And you nearly killed my wife, Marian, just to get back at him. Have you forgotten that? You would have killed an innocent woman if I hadn't stopped you."

Rowan hung his head, his face flushed with shame. "I know."

"I'm sorry, Rowan, that you lost your father, I truly am. But you weren't the only one who suffered that day. It was a tragedy for everyone involved."

"Except for Sheriff Vaisey and Gisborne. I didn't see them suffering for what they did."

"Perhaps Vaisey didn't, no. The man was a monster without a conscience. He'd dead and gone now, and good riddance. But you're wrong about Guy."

"Am I? He killed my father and got away with it, Robin!"

Robin shook his head. "He didn't get away with anything. Look, I'm not saying it's completely fair. Guy was granted a pardon by King Richard. Not even King John could find a way around it, and believe me, he tried. But unfair or not, Guy can't be put on trial again, and you can't touch him without bringing serious trouble on yourself and your family."

"What if it was the other way around?" said Rowan. "What if I had killed Gisborne's father? Do you think I would have gotten a pardon from the king? You know the answer. I'd have been dangling from the end of a rope the very same day."

_I can't deny it, _thought Robin. _There's no question that Rowan would have been hung for such a crime. Until the day that things change for the better in this country, there are two sets of laws and two standards of justice—one for the nobles and another for the poor working man._

_Is Rowan right? Have I forgotten?_ _In my friendship with Guy have I lost sight of the fact that he's still hated by many, and justifiably so? I see him so differently now, but I hated him once, too, enough to want him dead as much as Rowan does. _

_Rowan doesn't see the man I do. In his eyes Guy got away with murder. He doesn't believe Guy has paid for his wrongs, let alone that he has feelings, too, and has suffered terrible losses of his own._

"Rowan, you can believe what you like about Guy, but I know him far better than you do, and trust me, he hasn't gotten away with anything. He's paid, many times over, for the things he did. Maybe it doesn't look that way to you, but he has, and he will for the rest of his life."

"How?" countered Rowan. "He lives in his fine big house wearing his fine clothes, lording it over his lands and his servants, with all the peasants bowing to him and calling him "Sir Guy". You tell me how he's paid, Robin."

"That's how you see it, but you're so wrong about Gisborne," Robin answered quietly. "He knows just as much as you do what it's like to lose someone he loved. He lost his parents, both of them, in one day, and he loved them as much as you loved your father. He was innocent of blame, but he was held responsible for their deaths and was driven out of his home and his village. He lost everything. And that was only the beginning of it for him. You don't know the whole story."

"I don't feel pity for him. My sister and I lost our father because of him, and my mother lost the husband she loved."

"He acted on Sheriff Vaisey's orders, Rowan. Believe it or not, that day at the mine was tragic for him, too. But he's not that man anymore, and he's sorry for what he did."

"Oh, really?" Rowan went to the pile of wood in the corner and picked up a board. "Then why has he never said so to me?"

"He has, to me and to the whole town. The killing of your father was one of the crimes he confessed to, and showed his remorse for."

"Remorse? In whose eyes? Yours? No. I'm sorry about his boy, but I don't forgive him, Robin. I never will."

Robin saw there was no point in saying anything more about Guy. Rowan was too angry, too embittered, to hear him. He got back to the business at hand.

"Rowan, you need to find Peter, now, and bring him to the Sheriff, before Gisborne sends some guards over here to do it for you. I'm serious. Find him now. I've got another visit to make in the meantime. There are other boys involved. If you and Peter cooperate, perhaps we can deal with this situation without the need for drastic action."

Rowan turned to face him.

"I'll cooperate, Robin, but I don't expect fair treatment for my son, not from the likes of Gisborne. Or from you, either."

He went back to his bench and slammed the board down on it.

Robin moved to the door. "Find your son, bring him to the Sheriff, and we'll talk this out."

Rowan didn't answer him, didn't look at him again. Robin shut the door, and slowly walked back toward the street.

_It's like my father, Malcolm, and Guy's father, Sir Rodger, all over again,_ he thought, his heart heavy with sadness at the memory. _It's me and Guy, the way we were for so many years._ _Now it's_ _Guy's son, and Rowan's son. Tuck was right when he said that the sins of the fathers are visited upon their children._

_If only Guy could say how sorry he is to Rowan, face-to-face. If he could just swallow his pride, and ask Rowan's forgiveness. He needs to, and Rowan needs to hear it. If Guy won't, if he can't, I fear the hatred between them will go on, through their children, and never end…._


	25. Chapter 25 Apology Not Accepted

**APOLOGY NOT ACCEPTED**

Rodger of Gisborne wanted Robert of Mansfield to go away. Go away and never come back.

Robert stood by Rodger's bed, gazing mutely upon the younger lad's swollen face and blackened eye.

"I'm sorry, Rodger," he said, after a long silence. "I never meant for things to go so far. I didn't know Peter was going to beat you up the way he did, honest. I—"

Rodger stared back at Robert as he stood shuffling his feet and wringing his hands, his face a picture of contrition. But Rodger was not in a forgiving mood. Rage and disgust tightened the already badly bruised muscles in his chest. The pain only made him angrier.

"Yes, you did," he said through clenched teeth. "Don't lie to me. You knew."

"No, Rodger, I didn't! I thought he only wanted to, you know, yell at you or something. I was mad at you because you were dancing with Eleanor. It was stupid of me. But I didn't know Peter was going to—"

Rodger turned his face away and stared at the wall.

"Rodger, I—" but Rodger would not look at him again.

"Go away, Robert. Don't come back here. Leave me alone."

Robert slowly turned to leave. He stepped into the hallway, to find Eleanor waiting for him.

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"Robert! What are you doing here?"

"My father made me come over. But I wanted to anyway, Eleanor, to apologize to Rodger. I'm so sorry about all this. You believe me, don't you?"

She eyed him warily, arms crossed.

"Come on, you know me better than that! I would never hurt Rodger on purpose! He's your friend, so he's my friend."

"Your friend? Since when? If he's your friend, why didn't you stop Peter?"

"I did try to stop him! Rodger got hit on the head, Eleanor. He's not thinking straight, he doesn't remember. I told Peter to stop, and I tried to pull him off, and the other boys, too. Honest, I did."

She wanted to believe him. She liked him. He was so sincerely concerned for Rodger, and so eager to make things right.

"Eleanor, it was a mistake. All right, I admit it—I was, well, I was jealous, okay, because Rodger was dancing with you. That's why I went along with Peter. But I didn't know—"

"Jealous?" she said. "Of Rodger? He and I are only friends, you know that. We've known each other all our lives. He only asked me for a dance, for goodness' sake. It didn't mean anything."

Her voice faltered as she spoke, however. Were she and Rodger really only friends? _Of course we are,_ she told herself, but a nagging little doubt intruded as her mother's words came back to her.

'_Rodger's not your brother, and he's not a little boy anymore. You're both growing up, and someday….'_

Robert didn't think they were just friends. He was jealous. Did he have reason to be? No boy had ever admitted to her that he was jealous of another boy's attentions.

She looked up at him. He was tall, nearly as tall as Rodger, and handsome. His eyes were a deep blue, his hair golden, and he was jealous of Rodger because they had danced together! She felt the heady rush of this new, intoxicating power, more exciting than any archery contest.

"Did Rodger forgive you?"

He shook his head sadly. "He's still mad at me." His face was flushed, his eyes earnest. "Eleanor, could you, do you think you could, you know, talk to him for me? Tell him I really mean it?"

"I can try. But I'll warn you, he's awful stubborn when he's mad."

He sighed. "I've got to go home now and face my father."

"Is he angry?"

"More than angry. I think I'm in big trouble." He smiled down at her. "But I will come back. I'll make things right, Eleanor. For you."

He bent and kissed her cheek. For a moment she thought he would kiss her lips, too, and she wasn't sure if she wanted him to or not. There was Rodger, lying in the next room, and it was partly Robert's fault. But Robert was nice, oh, yes, very nice. And he looked so sorry for Rodger. Perhaps it really was all a mistake. And his lips—she'd never been kissed before—

"Eleanor!"

Her father's voice broke the spell. She blushed and moved away from Robert as her father appeared on the landing.

"Your mother wants you downstairs."

"Okay, Papa."

Eleanor left her father and Robert standing together, but she smiled at Robert as she passed them.

Robin was not pleased, and his expression conveyed his displeasure. The answering smile left Robert's face as he turned to Eleanor's father.

"Robert, I'm glad that you came to take your share of responsibility and make things right with Rodger. But let's get one thing straight. My daughter doesn't belong to you, or anyone else. She's not sixteen yet. She's far too young to be involved in a courtship. Nor do you have my permission, especially given what's happened. I want you to go home now and work things out with your father."

Robert hung his head. "Yes, sir. I know, sir. And I'm sorry."

"Go on, now."

Robin followed him to the front door, to make sure he had no further conversation with Eleanor. He shook his head as he watched the boy mount his horse and ride away.

Robert was only sixteen, and by all accounts had been rather coddled all his life. That indulgence had come to an end after he and Guy rode to Sir Henry's estate in Mansfield, and met with its owner. Henry had been aghast, and then enraged, when he heard the news of his son's involvement in the attack on Rodger. He had called his son in to make an account for himself. It hadn't taken Robert long to confess, faced as he was with his father, and he and Guy, fixing him with demanding stares and pointed questions. He'd quickly dissolved into tears as he whimpered out the whole story of his part in the beating.

He had not divulged the names of the two other boys involved, however, nor had he gone so far as to openly admit to his membership in Peter's gang of hoodlums. For what he had admitted to, however, he'd received a hard slap across his face, in front of them and in full view of the servants, for shaming his father and mother, and was ordered to go immediately to Nottingham to apologize to Rodger.

"And don't think that's the end of it, boy!" Henry had shouted after him. "I'll not have you disgracing my good name. There will be hell to pay when you get back!"

After the disappointing meeting with Rowan, Robin was pleased to see that Sir Henry at least intended to make his son pay the consequences for his poor decision. What punishment Robert would receive was not yet decided, but Robin was satisfied that it would fit the crime.

_Perhaps we ought to cut the boy some slack,_ Robin mused. _Robert's part in the beating was apparently motivated by jealousy over Eleanor. It's not as though me and Guy don't understand those feelings, and the foolish actions they lead one into. _

_I remember how insanely furious I was when Guy boasted of Marian, "she is stirred by me", and how good it felt to punch the words out of his smirking mouth. We were fighting over politics, or so we imagined, but the heavy-fisted brawl between us that day so many years ago in the woods near Locksley was really about Marian all along. _

_And we were grown men, too, not boys like Rodger and Robert. No surprise that Marian was so disgusted with us. I suppose we did look stupid, rolling around in the mud and leaves and beating the hell out of each other. It's a wonder she didn't dump us both and run off with that Bavarian count who made such a fool of Vaisey. What was his name? Friedrich? Hmm, he had more sense than the two of us put together. _

_Well, Robert will have to prove himself before he comes back into my good graces. In the meantime, I don't want him near my daughter again._

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Robin and Marian sat with Guy and Meg in a small room off the Great Hall, waiting for an audience with the Sheriff. Robin wondered if Guy felt as strange as he did, standing in the same castle where so much of the past drama in their lives had played out.

_Probably he feels more uncomfortable than I do,_ thought Robin. _After all, he actually lived here; I was only an occasional, unwelcome visitor._

A guard entered the room and motioned them into the Hall. Rowan had arrived, with his son. Rowan glanced briefly at Robin and Marian, but steadfastly avoided eye contact with Guy. Guy looked father and guilty son over for some time. His jaws were clenched, his hands balled into fists, and a dark flush spread over his features. But he remained silent until the Sheriff addressed them.

"The boy's mother is not present?" Sir William inquired.

"No, sir," Rowan replied. The he added, "She is at home, with our other children. I'm afraid, sir, that we don't have the luxury that some have of household servants to look after our children. We have to do it ourselves."

Marian glanced over at Robin and caught his grimace. She knew what it meant. Rowan had promised to cooperate by bringing his son before the Sheriff, but he had, obviously, no intention of being courteous about it.

The incident was related to Sir William. Robin also told him that Sir Henry had been informed of Robert's part in the attack. They had learned a short time earlier that Robert was to be sent away to his uncle's manor in the north of England for an unspecified length of time.

This news relieved Robin and Marian's hearts as far as Eleanor was concerned, though neither one voiced it aloud in front of the others. Eleanor would not see Robert again for a long time, if ever. She had taken the news hard. She'd insisted, tearfully, that Robert was sorry for what he'd done, and it wasn't fair that he was being "exiled" to a distant uncle, who, in Robert's words, was a tyrant. Robin and Marian were unmoved by her tears, however. Robert would receive the discipline he needed, and she would get over Robert, and hopefully move on to a young man more worthy of her interest.

William then questioned Peter. Both Robin and Guy had expected the boy to deny everything, but to their surprise, he admitted to everything instead. Yes, he and his gang followed Rodger after the fair. Yes, they cornered him. Yes, he beat him up. The calm defiance on the boy's face as he related the events of that night offered no hint of remorse or shame. He might have been telling them what he ate for dinner, so little did his face change expression.

Sir William was an even-tempered man, not given to anger, but they could see that he was not pleased with young Peter's attitude. He asked the boy several more questions, which Peter responded to with a yes, a no, or an indifferent shrug.

In the end, as there was no question that Peter had beaten Rodger and caused him considerable bodily injury, the Sheriff pronounced sentence. Peter was to be locked up in the castle prison for the duration of one week, after which he was to have no further contact with Rodger or any of his family, under penalty of a much longer prison stay.

Guy stared sullenly as the sentence was announced. He knew there was little else the Sheriff could do. Peter was only thirteen. As for his father, he had not directly induced Peter to commit the crime, so he could not be held directly accountable. Sir William hoped the shame of seeing his son punished with a stay in prison would be incentive enough to be a better and more watchful father in future.

Peter was lead away, his head high and an undaunted smirk upon his lips. Rowan's eyes met Guy's for the first time that day. The look he gave Gisborne as he passed him was one of bitter reproach, before he quietly left the Great Hall without another word.

"Something tells me," said Robin, "that he won't learn a thing from this."

"Did you see his face?" sighed Meg. "And he's just a young boy. What will he be when he grows up?"

But Robin wasn't thinking just of Peter.

"There will be no reconciliation between either party today," he whispered to Marian.

"Did you really think there would be?"

"Honestly? No. And I don't think there ever will be."

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Three days later, Rodger endured the bumpy ride home to Gisborne Hall. He walked up the stairs to his bedroom holding onto his father's arm. Anna and another maidservant settled him into bed, while his mother went to fetch him some dinner.

"You've got more pretty nurses waiting on you than a whole army of wounded men," joked Uncle Archer, grinning at him from the doorway. "Quite a way with the ladies already, huh, Rodger? Just like your uncles. No comment on you, Guy."

Rodger forced a smile. Archer had somehow finagled an extended stay in Locksley from King John, and he and Allan had been at his grandfather's house every day, rather too obviously in an attempt to cheer him up with their jokes and teasing banter. He was grateful to both of them, but sometimes he just wanted them to go away, too. It hurt too much to laugh, and he felt like he could never really laugh again.

His victory at the race was now in the dust. Starlight, the fastest horse in Nottinghamshire, was out in the pasture growing fat and lazy, and it would a long time before he could ride him again.

He'd heard that Robert had been sent away to his uncle's, and he'd learned that Peter was locked up in the Nottingham prison, but he felt strangely indifferent about their punishments.

The next day, his new routine began. Breakfast in bed, then a brief time up to wash while Anna smoothed the rumpled bedclothes. Back into bed to rest, the quiet occasionally disturbed by a visitor—a family member, or one of the villagers. A noon meal, another foray out of bed to walk slowly around the room, and if the weather was nice, outside to get some fresh air. A long afternoon sleep, followed by dinner. Books, conversation, his mother and Anna's gentle care, visits from Matilda and the physician to check his progress, and a night's sleep, to be repeated again the next day. And the next.

Day followed day. Days turned into weeks. All around him, life went on. The peasants brought in the harvest, under Robin and his father's supervision. Summer turned into early fall. The days grew shorter, the nights cooler. His fifteenth birthday passed with little notice.

Little John came early one morning, and spent the whole day with him. That was a happy day, "just like old times", as John said. Except for Will and Djaq, all the gang were together, with their families, for supper. Many a story of their days as outlaws was talked and laughed over at the dining table that night. John extended his stay for another day at Meg's request when she saw how much her son loved being with John. But all too soon Little John had to return to the orphanage, and the house was quiet again.

"You're getting better, my lad," Matilda assured him when she saw Rodger lying listlessly in his bed the next morning. "You'll be yourself again in no time at all."

His swollen eye was back to normal. Most of the bruises had faded away. His ribs didn't hurt so much anymore. But he felt tired, and apathetic to the world outside his bedroom walls.

"I'm going to Nottingham, with Robin," his father said one crisp fall morning. "Do you feel well enough to come with us?"

Rodger didn't want to go into Nottingham. Everyone knew. The whole town knew. They'd all heard the story. They'd whisper, and point. They'd snicker, or look pityingly at him, and which was worse he couldn't say. Robert was a long way away, but Peter was still in Nottingham, and he was out of prison. Peter and his father hated them, all of the Gisbornes. What if he saw them again? What if his father—

"No, I'll stay here."

Father nodded and turned away, and Rodger never saw the worried expression on his face.

"We don't know what to do," Guy and Meg told Robin and Marian and Archer the next day. "It's like Rodger's just given up. He doesn't want to go into town with us. He barely leaves the house. He hasn't been on his horse since that day, even though the physician says he's well enough to ride again."

"Maybe he needs a change of scene," suggested Archer.

"A change of scene? What did you have in mind?"

"I could take him back to London with me for a while."

"Archer, that's very kind of you, but—"

"Say no more, Meg. I know what you're thinking. I'll corrupt the poor innocent lad with my bad boy ways, right?"

"Archer, I didn't say—"

"You don't have to." He grinned. "I _can_ be good, you know, when I'm called upon to be. Let Rodger come back with me for a visit. I'll perk him up, get him out of this rut he's in."

"I don't know—"

"We'll talk about it," said Guy.

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"Guy," Meg said to him that night as they lay together in their wide, canopied bed, "you know I love your brother, but he's, well, he's not someone I—"

"Robin and I had a stern talk with him, Meg. He's promised to behave himself if Rodger goes with him."

"Hmm, we'll see. If I hear of any trouble, he's coming straight back." She laid her head against his shoulder. "Oh, darling, I hope we're doing the right thing."

His arm tightened around her. "It'll work out, Meg, you'll see. A change of scene will do him good, get his mind off things. He needs a reminder that there's more to the world than Locksley and Nottingham."

Archer asked him to come back to London with him the next day, and Rodger agreed. The following week, his belongings packed and all the goodbyes said, Rodger mounted Starlight and followed Archer out of the village. He turned and waved a final goodbye before they rounded the corner of the road and disappeared out of sight.

Robin smiled at Guy and Meg. "He'll be homesick in no time at all," he assured them. "I'd give it a week, maybe two, and he'll be clamoring to come home."

But for once Robin was wrong. More than a year was to pass before Rodger of Gisborne returned to Locksley.


	26. Chapter 26 So, You Want to be a Knight?

**SO, YOU WANT TO BE A KNIGHT?**

"The boy's too old," Sir Randolph said to Archer as he looked at Rodger's strapping six feet of young manhood with the air of a man not easily impressed. "Too old to start the training. You should've brought him here years ago."

"He's had very thorough instruction in swordsmanship already, from his own father," Archer informed him.

"Has he now? I'll be the judge of that," the old knight replied. He walked around Rodger several times, surveying him with a critical eye.

_I feel exactly like a horse in the marketplace, being looked over by a potential owner,_ thought Rodger. His face flushed with embarrassment under the head-to-toe scrutiny. _Too old to train?_ _Give me half a chance and I'll show you—_

"You've got good shoulders on you," Sir Randolph acknowledged. "And stout arms."

He grabbed Rodger's hands and turned the palms up. "But your hands are soft."

_Soft? After all those lessons with Father? How can he possibly think my hands are soft? I—_

"Don't like hearing that, do you, lad?" The man smiled with grim amusement as he read Rodger's hurt pride in his face. "Good. You've got some spirit in you. And you'll need it."

He turned to Archer. "For now, until he can prove himself, he's a page."

"A page? But he's fifteen—"

"That's my final word," the knight said. "As it is, I'm doing you both a favour. Unless you care to challenge my decision before the king."

"Ah, no, sir. A page he is," Archer conceded to Sir Randolph's authority.

"Good. Bring him back tomorrow and we'll start."

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"A page?" Rodger protested to his uncle that night after they retired to Archer's quarters. "That's a title for the little boys! I'm going on sixteen!"

Archer smiled at him. "Patience, my dear nephew. You know that, and I know it, but they don't. Go out there tomorrow and show them. You'll be promoted to squire quickly enough."

The next day, Rodger returned to the castle's practice yard, where he was paired up with the oldest and the sturdiest of the pages in a mock swordfight. He quickly defeated him.

"Hmph!" was all that Sir Randolph had to say, but Archer wouldn't let it rest there.

"I think it's safe to say that he's proven himself, sir. You and I both know he doesn't belong with the pages. He's head and shoulders above them. Promote him to squire."

"You're full of advice, aren't you, Sir Archer? But when I want your opinion, I'll ask for it."

He addressed Rodger. "So, Rodger of Gisborne, you want to be a squire, do you?"

He motioned to one of the older boys. "Stephen, show our aspiring squire what he can expect from us."

A hulking nineteen year old, with flaming red hair and a scar that ran across the bridge of his nose and down his cheek, looked Rodger over with a sneer as he chose his sword from the table.

"You think you're ready to fight with the big boys, Gisborne?" the man taunted. He whirled the sword around his head in an elaborate flourish clearly meant to intimidate.

"I'm ready," answered Rodger, with more bravado than he felt as he glimpsed Stephen's brawny forearms. But all eyes were on him. He would not, could not fail in front of these young men, or his uncle. The honour of the Gisborne name was at stake.

He lunged as his father had taught him, but Stephen, more agile than he appeared, deflected the blow easily, and brought his weapon down in a hard bash against Rodger's arm. The training swords were made of wood and their edges were blunt, but they were heavy and they still hurt.

"Move, Gisborne! Don't stand there all stiff! Move!" he heard Sir Randolph say as he rubbed his bruised arm. "Never mind your arm. Do you think your enemy will give you a moment to nurse your wound in a real battle? You hesitate like that, boy, and you'll be dead a dozen times over."

Rodger gritted his teeth, took fresh hold of the practice sword, and stepped forward to slash at his opponent. He and Stephen exchanged several blows, and Rodger's shaken confidence came back as he put his father's training into use. The other boys cheered as he fended off one blow after another. But as he took the offensive once again, the older boy, with one swift motion, knocked his sword from his hands, and jabbed Rodger with his own sword.

"Gotcha!" he grinned.

Stephen meant the gesture as a playful one, but the dull point of the sword hit Rodger squarely in his newly healed ribs. He grimaced in pain, and shoved Stephen away from him.

"Temper, temper!" Stephen scolded, still grinning.

"Shut up!" Rodger snarled as he rubbed his sore chest.

"Enough, both of you," Sir Randolph reprimanded them. "Remember, we are gentlemen here, and we comport ourselves as gentlemen at all times. Take a rest and cool off."

G_entlemen? _scoffed Rodger. _What does a lout like Stephen know about being a gentleman? He probably wipes his nose on his sleeve and spits bones on the floor at the supper table. _

He retreated, panting heavily, to the bench and sat down. His arm throbbed with pain, and nausea assailed his stomach. But he had little time to rest and recover, for in a few minutes he was called back up to have another go with one of the other squires.

"What's next?" Rodger asked his opponent as they finished their bout at the cost of a few more bruises.

"Archery practice," the boy answered.

Rodger looked across the yard to the row of targets. _Okay, I can hold my own there,_ he thought. _Surely I can do as well as any of them._

But then, some distance away, he spotted a strange apparatus—a dummy figure holding a shield, suspended from a swinging pole, the rotating arms of which were hung with sandbags.

"What is that?" he asked the boy.

"A quintain," the other squire told him. "Never seen one? It's how we train with the lance. You ride your horse at it, and try to hit the shield. If you hit it, the arms swing 'round and you have to be careful that you don't get knocked off your horse." He grinned at Rodger. "Ever used a lance before?"

"No."

The boy laughed. "Then you're in for some fun. Watch out for those sandbags! They hurt like hell when they hit you."

After the years of intensive sessions with his father, Rodger had felt prepared for whatever these men in London had to throw at him. By the end of that first day of training, he saw that he'd been dead wrong.

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After a supper consumed in the dining hall, Rodger wrapped his hands in strips of cloth smeared with ointment to soothe the bloody blisters that covered them, before he crawled into his cot in the chilly communal sleeping quarters. Archer's apartments in the castle, where he had stayed for the first two weeks of his visit, were not luxurious, but this was spartan in the extreme—a hard cot and a thin blanket.

'_It's part of your training,'_ Archer had said. '_You'll learn endurance—very important for a knight.'_

But all of Rodger's thoughts were on his bedroom at Gisborne Hall—a soft bed, plenty of pillows, warm quilts and blankets, a fire in the hearth….

_I used to believe Father was hard on me. I thought I was tough. I thought I was ready for this, that it would be easy, but now I see he was far too easy on me._

He turned on his side and tried to sleep, but the cot was too narrow, every muscle and bone in his body ached fiercely, and there was no kind Mother there to comfort him. No one felt sorry for him. Even Archer was unsympathetic. '_You'll be fine'_, was all Archer had said when he'd shown his torn hands and bruised limbs to his uncle.

_I should go home. I don't belong here_.

But he knew he couldn't go home. That would be admitting defeat. He had to stay for now, and take advantage of the opportunities laid before him. His father would wish it, as part of his education, and would not be pleased to see him give up and come home too quickly.

He had come to London with his uncle for another, more personal reason—to learn to defend himself. There would be no repeat of that terrible night on the streets of Nottingham, not if he could help it.

_Next time Peter and I meet—_

He quickly crushed out that thought as unworthy. He could defend himself if need be, but it was beneath him to seek revenge. If he did, he'd only lower himself to Peter's level.

'_Rise above it, Rodger,'_ had been Little John's parting advice as he'd hugged him goodbye. '_Don't take revenge. Show Peter and every other boy like him that you're the bigger man.'_

Little John was right. He wanted to be like his father, but only in the ways that were admirable. He would imitate his father's loyalty, his honesty, and his courage. He would be brave and do what was right and honourable, as Father had done so many years ago when he'd abandoned his bad course.

Only at this moment, as he thought of his family and his home, it was hard to be brave.

'_When are you coming home?'_ Mother had written in her last note. '_Richard and Ghislaine keep asking me when you'll be home. What should I tell them? They miss you, Rodger. We all miss you, darling.'_

A miserable tide of loneliness engulfed him. He turned over on his cot, tears stinging his eyes, to see one of the other boys watching him from the next cot. The boy propped himself up on his elbow while Rodger hastily wiped the tears away. He steeled himself for the inevitable mockery, but to his surprise the boy quietly asked, "Do you miss your family?"

Rodger stared at him for a moment before replying, "Yes."

The boy nodded in understanding. "It's okay, you know. My father sent me here when I was eight. I hated it. I wanted to go back home every day. I still do sometimes. But some days it's not bad. It can even be fun."

"I'm not so sure after today," said Rodger.

"Don't let Stephen bother you," the other boy said. "He likes to tease, especially the newcomers. Don't let on that he annoys you and you'll get on fine."

"I didn't make much of a first impression," said Rodger ruefully, but the boy shook his head.

"You're the first new lad in a very long time that Stephen hasn't knocked to the ground in two strokes, and sent back to the bench whimpering. Even old Randolph sat up and took notice, believe me. You fight well. You won respect today, Rodger of Gisborne."

Rodger smiled gratefully, his heart warmed by the unexpected outreach of friendship. Suddenly he didn't feel quite so alone anymore.

"What's your name?" he asked.

"I'm Geoffrey, from Longdale."

"Nice to meet you, Geoffrey," said Rodger. "And, thanks."

"For what?"

"For not laughing at me for crying."

Geoffrey smiled. "I wouldn't dare," he said. "I saw how well you handle a sword. It might be my turn to cry next, if we're paired up on the practice grounds tomorrow."

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In the days and weeks that followed, Rodger slowly found his place among his fellow squires. The long days of training, in all weather, were arduous, and competition on the field was relentless. Injuries were common, so common that even broken bones were treated lightly. The blisters on Rodger's hands turned into hard calluses. At night he dropped into his cot too exhausted to care that it was narrow and cold. But he began to take pride in the discipline and self-denial that toughened his body and gave focus to his mind. And in the evenings, gathered with his fellow knights-in-training around the dining tables, he felt the camaraderie born of their shared purpose and goal.

He and Geoffrey became fast friends, and, as Archer assured him, "with one loyal friend by your side you can take on the world." He thought of his father and Robin, and their friendship that spanned decades, and hoped his new friend would prove to be such a companion for him. Geoffrey was a bright lad, well-read, full of a quiet humour, and not the least bit envious of the attention Rodger received for his skills with a sword.

"I'm here to make my father proud," he told Rodger. Like Rodger, he was destined to run his family's estate. Geoffrey's father had been badly wounded in a border war some years earlier, Rodger learned, and had never fully recovered. He ran his little manor in Longdale now, where he lived with his wife and three daughters. Geoffrey was his only son.

Stephen eventually stopped teasing Rodger, and said he was "al'right for a new boy". Stephen was a born leader, and Sir Randolph's star pupil, and they all more or less looked up to him. Rodger and Geoffrey felt privileged when Stephen joined their table at mealtimes and shared in their conversation and games of chess.

In the daylight hours, Rodger was so busy with his new life and routine that the longing for home faded into the background. But at night, alone with his thoughts, his heart would turn back to the little village of Locksley, his family and friends, and—Eleanor.

He remembered the dance in the town square of Nottingham. How beautiful Eleanor had been! They had danced together as if they were the only two people in the world. For the first time he had seen her as someone other than a childhood companion. If he were to go home to Locksley, they could not return to their innocent friendship. They could never be friends again in the same way. She was a girl growing into a woman, and he was becoming a man.

_I wonder if Eleanor misses me. Not that it matters. She would never think of me….no, I'm only fooling myself. She probably hasn't given me a moment's thought since I left. _

_But, I miss her…._

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Rodger had been at the castle with Archer for more than three months when he was summoned to appear before King John. He had supposed that it was only a matter of time before he would be called in, given his uncle's position as one of the king's personal guards, but he'd heard so many stories over the years of the monarch's animosity toward his father and Uncle Robin that the inevitable meeting filled him with dread.

"Why do you work for him?" he asked Archer that evening. "After everything he's done to our family!"

"You sound like your father and Robin," Archer replied. "But it's a fair question. I'll tell you the same thing I told them. I do it to keep the bastard off our backs, that's why."

"I don't understand."

"Why do you think King John leaves our family alone now? Do you think he's forgotten us? Hardly. He leaves us alone because Tuck and I work to keep it that way. Listen, Rodger. John would like nothing better than to see us all hanged. So, I humour him, okay? I remind him all the time, and so does Tuck, that your father and Robin run their estates and pay their taxes and don't cause him any problems. The king is hated by more than a few. The last thing he needs is more trouble, and he'd get it if he did anything to our family. It's the same reason Sir William has been Sheriff of Nottingham for so many years. He'd have replaced him long ago with someone as rotten as Vaisey if Tuck and I hadn't talked him out of it. That's why we stay here, to keep our family safe."

Rodger thought about Archer's words, and then asked Tuck the same question.

"I have no wife, no family," answered Tuck, "but I have a full heart. Your family has become my family, Rodger. I would gladly give my life for any of you. If I can help you by keeping King John at bay, I count it a privilege."

The next morning, Rodger dressed carefully in his best clothes, and tried to remember everything his parents had taught him about proper court etiquette. He and Archer followed the guard into the throne room, where King John was seated, surrounded by his numerous attendants.

"Leave me," John ordered. "I want to see these two alone."

The attendants filed out, and Archer and Rodger stepped forward and bowed.

"So, this is your nephew, Gisborne's boy."

"Yes, my lord. This is Rodger of Gisborne."

Rodger's mouth was dry, his hands sweaty. He lifted his eyes briefly, and saw King John for the first time. The man was richly dressed in velvet and furs. Rings covered his hands. His ruddy hair was sprinkled with grey. His face wore its habitual expression of haughty disdain. He looked Rodger over for some time. Rodger didn't know where to focus his eyes. Surely it would be impertinent to stare back at him? Finally, King John spoke.

"You look just like him," he said, a trifle peevishly. "There's no doubt of whose son you are."

"Many people tell me that, sire," Rodger answered without thinking. He saw Archer flash him a reproving glance. '_Don't speak unless you're asked a direct question',_ Archer had instructed him, and he'd forgotten the first rule already.

"Huh!" King John gave a short laugh. "You've got his arrogance, too, don't you, boy?"

"No, sire, I—" Rodger subsided into silence. Archer quickly covered a chuckle with a cough. The king stepped down from the throne and stood in front of Rodger. They were the same height, or would have been if Rodger could have met his eyes.

"Look at me, Rodger of Gisborne."

Rodger looked up, to meet the king's intense, and displeased, stare.

"It's like having your father right in front of me again!" John burst out. He turned away and paced the length of the room in agitation. After a moment he stopped, and flung his hands up dramatically.

"Am I never to be free of you Gisbornes?" he cried. "And Locksleys? You've been the bane of my existence! I should have had your father castrated when I had the chance!"

"Now, sire," said Archer soothingly. "You know that Nottingham is the most peaceful part of England. There's been no real trouble from that quarter for many years now. Neither Sir Guy nor Robin of Locksley have given you any grief."

"Robin Hood—ha! If I hadn't been forced to sign that pact with my brother, you know what I'd do to him?" John snorted derisively. "And _Sir_ Guy! What ever possessed my foolish brother to restore his lands and title to him?"

He rounded on Rodger. "You'll be the next holder of Gisborne, I assume?"

"Yes, sire. I'm the eldest son."

"There are more of you?"

"I have a younger brother, and a sister, sire."

"And what are you doing in London, pray tell?"

"I—I'm visiting my uncle, sire."

"Obviously!" He rolled his eyes. "Why else are you here?"

"He's a squire, my lord, in training to be a knight," Archer answered when Rodger hesitated. "You remember, sire, I asked your permission, and it was granted."

"Oh, yes, so it was. You must have caught me in a good mood." He turned back to Rodger. "Well, Rodger of Gisborne, _Sir_ Rodger, you'd best swear your allegiance to me when the time comes, if you know what's good for you. I'll have no more rebellion from any of your family!"

"Yes, sire."

The interview was at an end. King John yawned, and waved his hand at them in dismissal.

"Bored now," he said. "Be off with you both. And send Tuck in here."

Archer and Rodger retreated to the hallway outside.

"That went well," said Archer, with a grin and a wink.

"You think so?" asked Rodger in astonishment.

"He didn't say anything about wanting to see your head fastened up on London Bridge," replied Archer, "so he must have taken a shine to you. Yes, I'd say that went very well indeed. I'll be very much surprised if you're not invited to dine with him in the near future."


	27. Chapter 27 Dearest Eleanor

**"DEAREST ELEANOR…."**

"Do you think Rodger will ever come back to Locksley, Papa?"

"I'm sure he will."

"But when? He's been gone for months! Doesn't he miss us, his family, I mean?"

"Of course he does, Eleanor. But from what I gather he's having a pretty good time in London with Archer. He's a young man. He craves adventure, excitement—"

"And I don't, just because I'm a girl? I wouldn't mind a little excitement in my life, too. It's so dull around here!"

"Now you're starting to sound like your mother. She used to go out looking for adventure. Problem was, it often led to trouble."

"At least she got to be the Nightwatchman! What do I get to be? I'm not like the other girls in Locksley. All they dream about is getting husbands."

"I'm sure that's not all they dream about."

"Well, it's all they talk about. They're all so silly! And the boys in the village are busy working with their fathers. There's no one left who just wants to have fun like we used to."

"You're growing up, Eleanor, along with your friends. You can't expect everything to stay the same as it was."

"I hate growing up."

"You may not mind so much in a few years. There are a few good things about growing up."

"Like what?"

"Like falling in love with your best friend and spending the rest of your life making each other happy."

"Now _you_ sound like Mama. She thinks I should marry Rodger."

"I can think of worse fates for you."

"Oh please, Papa! Rodger? We couldn't. We'd kill each other!"

"I thought you missed him."

"I do, but—"

"The best and happiest marriages often start out as friendships. You've known Rodger all your life, and he's been a good friend to you, a loyal friend. Don't toss that aside lightly because you imagine you like someone else. Someone you hardly know, I might add."

"Do you mean Robert? No, I'm all over that."

"Good. I'm glad to hear it. I know he seemed nice enough, but he's not for you."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because from what I've seen, he's not of strong character, and I don't entirely trust him."

"You just don't like him because he was friends with that Peter, but he's sorry for it! He can change. Look how much Uncle Guy changed."

"I'm just asking you to wait a while, Eleanor, before you make such an important decision. Wait until you're older."

"Don't worry, Papa, I'm not going to rush out and get married tomorrow, to Robert or Rodger or anyone else."

"I should hope not. I'd like to keep my little girl here with me for a while yet."

"Little girl? Oh, Papa, really!"

"I know. But you'll always be my little girl."

"I just wish there was something to look forward to before the fair this summer. It's still months away."

"Maybe there is. What do you think about the idea of a trip to London to see our friends?"

"Really? When?"

"We've been talking it over with Guy and Meg. There's a tournament coming up in a few weeks, and Archer and Rodger are going to take part."

"Why don't you and Uncle Guy enter it?"

"My dear daughter, don't you think we're a bit on in years for that sort of thing? Our old bones couldn't take the pounding anymore. It's a young man's sport."

"Uncle Archer isn't that young, either."

"No, but he's a lot younger than us. Besides, I really don't want to see Guy in a suit of armour again."

"When did you see Uncle Guy in a suit of armour? I've never seen him in anything but leather."

"It was a long time ago, before you were born."

"A full suit of armour? Wow, I'll bet he looked amazing."

"Try hilarious instead."

"Hilarious? Papa, why are you smiling like that? What did you do to him?"

"What makes you think I did anything to him?"

"Papa!"

"Okay, okay. So I might have had a bit of fun with him that day. Just a little. Get him to tell you if you really want to know. Ask him to tell you the tale of the indestructible armour."

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Rodger settled into his bed in Archer's quarters. After the dreary accommodations he'd endured all winter, the simply furnished apartment was blissfully warm and cozy. It was a luxury he enjoyed only occasionally. He still spent most nights in the hall with the other knights-to-be, as part of his training. Though it was spring, the nights were chilly, so he was thankful for the fire and the soft blankets. He sighed as he nestled deeper under the bedcovers. Archer was already asleep, snoring contentedly from his bed on the other side of the room.

He'd received a letter from his parents that morning, telling him of their plans to visit. He hadn't seen any of them since November; now it was April. In a few days he was to compete in his first tournament and act as his uncle's attendant, and now here was this news that his family was coming to watch.

Rodger wasn't sure how to feel about it. Mother would pressure him to come home, no doubt, but he wasn't ready to return to Locksley. Father would want to see evidence that his eldest son had used his time in London to good advantage, and Rodger could only hope he wouldn't let him down. As for Eleanor—

'_What's so great about jousting?'_ she'd said to him, only a few months ago, before the fair in Nottingham. '_It's just a bunch of showoffs bashing each other up.'_

Would she say the same thing to him now, in that same scornful tone, when she saw him on the field?

_Why do I care what Eleanor thinks, anyway? She never answered my last letter. I'll bet she still likes Robert. Oh, so what? There are plenty of other girls in the world._

Swarms of them, in fact. From his first invitation to dine with King John, only a day after their initial meeting, his eyes had been opened to a larger world far removed from the quiet seclusion of Locksley village.

At the banquets and celebrations in King John's court, elegant, beautifully dressed, and accomplished young women were everywhere. Every lord and knight and wealthy merchant who ate at the king's table had a pretty daughter or two, with a ready smile and a willing hand to extend to a handsome young squire who requested the honour of a dance. As a consequence, Rodger never lacked for pleasant dinner companions or lively partners in the dance. He now had reason to be grateful to his mother for her insistence on the hated dance lessons, and he only wished he'd applied himself, as his brother Richard had done, to learning a musical instrument as well.

The women of the court were fiercely guarded by their fathers and brothers, at least while in the public eye, but away from their guardians, in the dim hallways and moonlit balconies of the castle, many were surprisingly bold. Temptations abounded. Although an avowed bachelor, Archer was a charming rogue, with a silver tongue and a come-hither twinkle in his dark blue eyes, and he did not always retire to his bedchamber at night alone.

Rodger was aware of his uncle's philandering ways, but he said nothing about it. Archer was a grown man, and his private life was none of his business. If his parents learned of it, Father might understand, but Mother certainly would not. She would label Archer a bad influence, and order Rodger home immediately.

So Rodger kept his uncle's secrets for him. He had none of his own to keep. He was far too shy to pursue such a relationship beyond a flirtation, and too keenly conscious of the disappointment in himself that would undoubtedly follow if he did. He wanted something better to look forward to.

_No, I'll wait. I want what Mother and Father have—a deep and lasting love—and I won't settle for less. I want to be with one woman only—my wife. _

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Eleanor took down the little wooden box that rested on the shelf in her bedroom, and unlocked it.

'_For all your little treasures'_, Mama had told her when she'd given her the box with its golden key. Jewelry, hair ornaments, keepsakes from her family—no doubt that's what her mother had in mind. Eleanor's box contained those things, but also other, more carefully hidden, secrets.

She pulled out a bundle of letters from the bottom of the box, lay down on her bed, and started to read them.

'_Dear Eleanor'_, began one, '_I miss you. I hope I can see you again soon. It seems so long since we spoke.' _

'_Dear Eleanor,' _read another, '_I remember how lovely you were at the dance in Nottingham. I hope we can dance together again very soon!' _

'_Dear Eleanor, I think of you every day, and dream of you at night. Is it wrong of me to tell you? But I must, it's the truth….'_

With a guilty flush, Eleanor tucked all but one of the letters back in the box. She kept the key carefully hidden in a dark corner of her clothes closet, in case her mother took it into her head to snoop. Mama would be angry if she knew about the letters. She's scold and lecture. Papa, he'd be angry, too. No, not angry. Disappointed, because they were chums and he trusted her. And she'd lied to him.

'_You lied to Papa'_, the insistent, accusing voice echoed in her head. She thrust it aside impatiently as she picked up the last letter.

_It wasn't a real lie. It was only a little fib. Nothing big. Besides, my parents don't need to know everything, do they? This is my life, and I can make my own decisions!_

She broke open the seal. The letter was dated from ten days previously. It had passed through a number of discreet servant's hands before reaching her.

_Ten days! He must be worried that I'm not going to answer. But it can't be helped._ _There's no other way to keep it secret._

She unfolded the sheet of paper. '_Dearest Eleanor'_, the letter began. She eagerly devoured its lines. When she reached the last line, she smiled softly, and pressed the letter to her lips.

It was signed, '_your Robert'_.

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**Author's Note: **Once again, my apologies, dear readers, for the long delay. I haven't been well (physically) and my writing has had to be put "on the back burner". I will try to do better for future chapters!**  
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Just a note on Eleanor's "crush" on Robert-neither she nor her parents are aware at this point of what Robert is up to as far as his history of seducing girls, and his selfish designs on Eleanor. Didn't want any of you to think that Robin and Marian are negligent parents! As for Eleanor, well, she's blinded by infatuation. She can't see at this point that she has someone far better-Rodger-right in front of her. How will it all play out? Will Eleanor see through Robert in time? Will Guy and Rowan ever make peace? More to come!

Thank you once again for reading and reviewing, and a thank you to the anonymous reviewers whom I can't thank personally through PMs. I appreciate your continued interest!


	28. Chapter 28 It's How You Play The Game

**IT"S HOW YOU PLAY THE GAME**

"I feel like such a hypocrite," muttered Robin, as he and Guy, and their wives and children, joined the procession of lords and ladies passing before the colourfully canopied berfrois, where King John sat with his wife and his young son, Henry III, and a large number of attendants. They were there, ostensibly, to pay their respects to the king before the opening day of the tournament.

"Just keep smiling, Locksley," Guy whispered to him. "Play the game. The bastard isn't a mind reader, after all. You can curse him all you want inside as long as you smile on the outside. He'll never know the difference."

Robin sighed with resignation, but his stomach churned. How he hated to play the role of Earl of Huntingdon when it involved bowing to the man he so despised! He knew Guy hated it, too. But they both had their families to think of.

King John's eyes narrowed at the sight of Robin and Guy, and a sneer curled his lip. His scornful gaze swept over Marian and Meg as they curtsied, and lingered for a moment on Eleanor, Richard, and Ghislaine, before returning to the two men, who, finished with their bows, had very fake smiles frozen on their faces. John could find nothing amiss, however, much as he wanted to, so at last he waved his scepter over them and let them pass on without comment.

As the Locksleys and the Gisbornes joined Archer in the seats reserved for them near the top of the berfrois, however, the king's frown changed to an exultant smile. Ha! His old nemesis, Robin Hood, and that equally despicable Sir Guy, forced to bow humbly to him! Both Robin and Guy espied the triumphant smirk aimed in their direction as they sat down.

"He enjoyed that," Robin grumbled.

"Of course he did," answered Guy. "I think we just made his day."

"Still, I'll never regret dumping him down the well in Nottingham Castle," said Robin. "It was worth all the trouble it got me into later."

"I agree," said Guy, with a smile.

"You do? You paid for it more than I did."

"Yes. But I look back at that day fondly just the same."

"Why is that?"

"Because it was the moment when I realized that I could really start to like you, Robin."

The grandstand gave an excellent view of the entire field. They looked out over the array of pavilions set up along the length of the lists, the banners fluttering in the brisk spring breeze, and the tree of shields, an ancient oak whereupon hung the shields of the participating knights. Knights and nobles and commoners from all over the country were gathered for the opening part of the contest, the vespers tourney. Held on the eve of the larger tournament, it was the opportunity for the squires and younger knights to display their fighting prowess before the older, more experienced knights, and the king and his guests.

"Our beloved monarch hasn't lost his taste for ostentatious show, has he?" observed Marian,

"It looks like he spared no expense," said Robin. "Trying once again to make himself popular, is he? And make people forget he's a tyrant?"

"Possibly," replied Archer. "If so, he'll be fighting an uphill battle. Rumour has it that the war with France isn't going well. He stands to lose even more territory."

"He's not the leader that Richard was."

"No, and it gets worse. The barons are growing angrier by the day at the taxes he's levied on them to pay for this war," Archer added. "I've even heard talk of civil war between John and the barons if he doesn't relent."

"No wonder he leaves us alone," said Guy. "He's got much bigger problems to worry about."

A trumpet blast announced the start of the tourney. All the young knights and squires filed out onto the field, to the cheers of the crowd.

"Where is Rodger? I don't see him," said Eleanor.

"Here he comes," answered Archer, as he pointed toward a tall, dark-haired young man, wearing the Gisborne black and gold and carrying a bow, with a sword strapped to his hip and a shield slung over his back. Archer and Robin stood up and cheered him, while his parents waved. Rodger heard them, and turned to smile and wave in return. His eyes briefly met Eleanor's, and the smile faded, before he turned away.

Eleanor had seen Rodger only once after their arrival in London. A terse greeting was all she'd received from him—no handshake, no hug, and no smile. It was then that she remembered she'd never answered Rodger's last letter, written some months earlier. In her eagerness to secretly correspond with Robert of Mansfield, she'd neglected Rodger.

_He's angry with me,_ she thought as she watched him choose his arrows for the first contest. _But I can't help it. I don't want him to think there's more between us than there really is._

She had reason to fear it. The last letter he'd sent could have been written to anyone, except for one line, one thought. Except for that one line, she could have gone on believing that Rodger loved her only as a friend.

_Am I reading too much into it? No, he wouldn't write what he did to a friend. What did Mama say?_ '_He's not your brother, Eleanor, and some day—' And Papa? He's no help. 'Some of the best marriages start out as friendships. He's been a loyal friend to you. Don't throw that away because you think you like someone else.'_

Papa didn't like Robert. He wanted her to marry Rodger, and so did Mama. Did Rodger, was he—

_I can't. I like him, I really do, but…._

Eleanor suddenly wished she'd stayed home in Locksley, and never come to London.

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Rodger hadn't forgotten the unanswered letter. He'd waited for weeks to hear from her, to be assured that she still valued their friendship at least, but was met with silence. Eleanor no longer thought of him, even as a friend.

_I shouldn't have said what I did in my letter. I wish I hadn't. I made a fool of myself, and for what? But it's too late now, _he thought bitterly.

He stepped forward to take his shots, eyes fixed upon the target as he tried to wipe the image of Eleanor from his mind.

_What does it matter if she cares nothing about me, anyway?_ _There are beautiful girls everywhere. _

He drew back his bow for the final shot, and struck the very center of the target.

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Rodger led the way among the younger squires. He placed third in the archery contest, and first place in the joust a plaisance, which cost his opponents several splintered lances and a good many bruises. The crowd cheered thunderously as he swiftly unseated his last foe with a fluid grace and strength that made the other young men look clumsy by comparison.

Stephen—bold, fearless, and soon to be made a full-fledged knight—led his team of squires and young knights, among them Rodger and his friend Geoffrey, to victory in the final melee a cheval. The tourney ended late in the afternoon. The competing squires and knights met in the center of the lists and shook hands and embraced each other in the spirit of chivalry.

It was then time to rejoin their families for the evening's feast. Rodger went back to Archer's quarters, peeled off several layers of mud and sweat-soaked clothes, washed, and dressed for supper. He was bruised and banged up and sore all over, but he was proud of his showing in the tourney. Surely even Eleanor would not be able to find anything to tease him about.

_And if she does,_ _so be it. I don't care, _he told himself, sincerely believing that he meant it.

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Queen Eleanor of Aquitaine, mother of King John, arrived for the post-tourney feast at the castle, and upon learning that Robin of Locksley and Lady Marian were there as well, asked them to join her at her table. Robin and Marian were overjoyed to see that noble lady once again, and Eleanor was delighted to finally meet the monarch for whom she was named. Despite her regal bearing, her costly garments and dazzling jewels, the queen was all warm friendliness to Robin and his family, and soon put them all at ease. Having learned some time earlier of Sir Guy of Gisborne's change of heart, and his pardon from her son Richard, she was quite gracious to him when he and his family were introduced to her.

Eleanor soon lost whatever nervousness she felt upon meeting the queen. She chatted freely with her namesake whenever the opportunity arose. The same could not be said for her reunion with Rodger, seated directly across from her.

Though Rodger studiously avoided looking in Eleanor's direction during the meal, Eleanor found she couldn't take her eyes off him. He had changed in the several months he'd been in London, changed so much, in fact, that she knew not what to make of him. What was he, nearly sixteen? He could have been mistaken for eighteen, even twenty. He was as tall and broad-shouldered as his father, with his father's strong, refined features and intense blue eyes. A dark stubble of beard shadowed his chin and jaw.

In place of the awkward shyness of his boyhood, there was a calm confidence about him that stopped just short of arrogance. It showed in his stride, the tilt of his head, and in the way he joined in conversation with his father and uncles as a man on an equal footing with them, in a voice that had dropped to a man's deep tones.

Was it really only a few months ago that they had wrestled together on the grass at the fair, and argued childishly over the archery contest? The young man sitting across from her at the long feast table was a stranger to her now, and she could find no words to say to this stranger.

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After the meal, as the tables were cleared and couples began to gather for the dance, Queen Eleanor invited them to stay for more talk. She inquired into the doings of Robin's former outlaw gang members, and was especially interested to know what had become of Little John.

"And what of my 'Big Bear'?" she laughed. "Where is that strapping lad? He didn't come with you?"

Robin was sorry to tell her that Little John had not been well over the winter.

"I'm afraid we're all getting older, my lady," he said. "John's feeling it the most. He wanted to be here with us, but was not able to make the journey."

"Please extend to him my best wishes," Queen Eleanor replied. "I have not, nor ever will, forget the service he rendered me."

While the others reminisced over the events of that day, Rodger turned to his mother.

"Is he really ill, Mother?" he asked anxiously.

"He's tired, son. He's not a young man anymore. The winter was hard on him."

Rodger hung his head. He'd been so caught up in training for the tournament that he hadn't thought about Little John for quite a while. But John had always been such a kind friend to him, he deserved better than that.

"Mother, I'm going to write to him, as soon as the tournament's over, and when I come home, the first thing I'm going to do is visit him!"

"He will be happy to see you, Rodger. Little John loves you dearly. He would be proud of you if he could have seen you today."

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Rodger looked out over the huge dining hall, and the available young women not yet partnered up for the dance. The auburn-haired maiden in the white and gold gown, or the flaxen-haired one in the sky-blue dress? The blonde girl glanced in his direction and smiled demurely. It was decided. He went to her and asked for her hand. She accepted, and they joined the other dancers.

Eleanor stood in a corner of the crowded room and watched as Rodger led the girl to the dance. She scowled as she saw him smile and gaze down into the girl's blushing face with those piercing blue eyes of his, the eyes that had steadfastly refused to look in her direction all evening.

_What did you expect, that he would ask you to dance when he thinks you ignored his letter? _

She had looked for an opportunity all through the feast to explain to him, to talk with him, to reassure him that they were still friends, but the chance had never come. Rodger was angry with her. He was not going to talk to her, let alone ask her to dance. Her cheeks burned as she watched him circle the floor with his lovely partner in his arms.

_Very well,_ _let him dance with that simpering ninny if that's what he wants! Look at him, so full of himself just because he's a squire and the __girls fawn on him. He's not the Rodger I remember. London_ _has spoiled him. Fine! If he chooses to ignore me, if he wants to play that sort of game, I don't have to play along. There are other young men here to dance with. I'm sure if I just look around I can find—_

"Eleanor of Locksley, would you honour me with a dance?"

"Robert!"


	29. Ch 29 Love's First Kiss, Or Maybe Not

**TRUE LOVE'S FIRST KISS, OR MAYBE NOT**

"Robert! What are you doing here?"

"I'm here for the tournament, why else would I be here?"

"Oh."

"Silly girl, I came to see you! Are you surprised?"

Robert smiled his deep, velvety, knee-melting smile, and kissed her cheek.

_Rodger never smiles at me like that. Come to think of it, he hardly ever smiles at all. He's so grim and serious. Not like Robert…._

"Yes. I mean, you didn't tell me you were coming. And how did you know I'd be here?"

"I have my sources." He took her hand. "I didn't tell you because I wanted to keep it a surprise. My father had a shipment of horses to deliver to King John's stables. We're staying for the tournament as a guest of the king. I didn't know you liked jousting."

"I don't, but I, well, my family and I, we came to see Rodger compete in the vespers tourney. And see my Uncle Archer. He's in the king's household guard."

"Is he? Well, now, you must have some clout with the king then."

"Not me. I don't. I've never met him, and I don't want to. I met Queen Eleanor. She's very nice. She likes my family. But my father isn't King John's favourite person."

"No, I imagine not, being the former Robin Hood and all."

"You know about my father?"

"Come on, Eleanor, everyone knows about Robin Hood! Robbed from the rich, gave to the poor, isn't that right? He's famous!"

"I think the king would label him 'infamous' instead."

Robert laughed and slipped an arm around her shoulders. "Let him say what he likes. Your parents are good people, Eleanor. By the way, do you think they've forgiven me yet? Because I'd love to dance with you."

Eleanor stole a quick glimpse back at the table where her parents were sitting. Were they watching her? Yes, they were both looking in her direction. Was that a frown on her father's face? It was hard to tell from across the room. Perhaps it wasn't.

"I'm sure they've forgiven you, Robert. And I'd love to dance with you, too."

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Rodger ladled out two goblets from a huge bowl of sweet punch, and handed one to the girl. She thanked him as she took the cup. She was pretty, and a good dancer, and he was on the verge of asking her for another dance, when he saw Eleanor, her face aglow, swirling about in the arms of—Robert of Mansfield.

Rodger's heart slowed to a dull thud. All around him people talked and laughed, ate and drank and danced, but what had once been a merry party was now nothing but noise, a loud, ceaseless din reverberating in his ears. Even the girl, whose name he had failed to ask for, was only so much irritating chatter. He heard nothing she said. He stared at Eleanor and Robert as if they were the only two people in the room, until a gentle tug on his sleeve brought him back.

"I finished my drink," the girl was saying. "Do you—I mean—" She glanced toward the other dancers, and then looked up at him in hopeful expectation.

"I'm sorry," he replied. "Thank you for the dance, but I just remembered I have something I need to do." He excused himself and turned from her quickly, too quickly to see the hurt and disappointment in her eyes, and went outside to the balcony.

After the hot, crowded hall the night air was cool on his face. Happy couples strolled past, whispering to each other and laughing. Rodger gazed out over the castle gardens, bathed in the soft glow of moonlight, but his eyes saw nothing of its beauty. He drew his cloak around him and stood unmoving. The moon disappeared behind a cloudbank and the sky darkened. Behind him, the banquet hall gradually grew quiet as the dancing and feasting ended, and the king's guests dispersed to their homes. The night was well along before Archer finally found him.

"Rodger! I've been looking for you everywhere! I thought you went back to the inn with your parents, but here you are all by yourself. You okay? You look like you need some sleep. So do I. We've got a big day tomorrow."

Without waiting for a response, Archer led Rodger back to his quarters. They undressed and climbed into their beds.

"G'nite," mumbled Archer. He never noticed that Rodger didn't answer him, for he was almost instantly asleep.

Sleep was far from Rodger, however. He could not close his eyes the rest of that night. But he was weary beyond words.

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The hubbub of the crowd grew into a roar, until at last the clamour died away as the ceremony of the Invocation was announced. The tournament had begun, and for three days knights from all over the realm would pit their skills and their courage against one another.

Rodger acted as squire for Archer. He watched proudly as his uncle unseated knight after disgruntled knight in the joust. They scowled and swore profanely at him under their breaths, but Archer never stopped smiling. Nothing ever seemed to rattle him, whether a tournament, or a dangerous assignment from King John, or the king's insane fits of wrath. He took it all in his stride.

"King John keeps me around because I amuse him," Archer told his family one evening. "Mind you, he hasn't forgotten that I'm a Locksley and a Gisborne, so if I ever stop amusing him, I'll likely lose my head." But even those frightful words were spoken with a wide, cheerful grin.

And he knew how to play to the crowd. He dismounted and helped each of his fallen opponents back on their shaky legs, and handed them their shields and lances in a gesture of chivalry that drew loud cheers from the spectators.

"The showoff!" said Robin, with an affectionate smile as he watched his younger brother lift his last conquered foe to his feet and catch his horse for him.

"It's the Locksley side of him," added Guy, with an equally fond smile. "The chivalry he gets from the Gisbornes."

"He's a terrible flirt," said Meg. "How many ladies' favours is he wearing?"

Marian laughed. "Half a dozen, anyway. Maybe more."

On that first day, Rodger was too busy fetching weapons, cleaning armour, grooming Archer's horse, and helping wounded knights off the field and into the physician's pavilion to think of Eleanor. At the feast and the dance that night he avoided even looking in her direction. And he went to his bed too exhausted to do much but fall asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.

But early the next morning, as he gathered with the other squires at the practice ground for a bit of warm-up sparring before the day's continuation of the tournament, Eleanor, and only Eleanor, entered the gate, carrying her bow. All the young men turned to stare. Unflustered, she walked toward Rodger.

"Good morning. Don't let me interrupt your practice."

"Eleanor, what are you doing here?" asked Rodger.

"I wanted to see what all the fuss was about," she replied, with a cheeky smile. "Oh, and you're talking to me now, are you?"

"You're welcome to watch if you want to," he said, a bit gruffly.

"May I meet your friends first?"

Rodger made the introductions.

"So, this is your little lady friend of whom we've heard so much," Stephen said. "She's prettier than I expected. But what's with the bow? Don't tell me—she's an archer?"

"Yes, and a very good one, too," Rodger replied before Eleanor could respond to the "pretty" remark.

"Really? That pretty little girl?" he snickered.

"I wouldn't call her that if I were you," Rodger said. "She's Robin Hood's daughter, don't forget."

"So you've told me. She inherited dear daddy's skills, did she?"

"She learned them, just like we did, but she had the best teacher."

"How much are you willing to wager?"

"What?"

"You up for a bet, Gisborne? Your little friend, against me. Best shot of three."

"Are you serious? Well, then, she can speak for herself. You ask her."

Eleanor burst out laughing. "Do I have some say in this wager of yours?"

"Of course, Lady Eleanor of Locksley," replied Rodger.

Eleanor gave him a smile that made him want to believe that there was nothing, after all, between her and Robert. He returned it in hopes that she saw what he was too shy to say. And for a moment, her eyes did linger softly on him, before she turned back to the hulking Stephen with a droll smirk.

"Fine, I'll take your challenge. But I'm not playing to win your bet. I'm doing it for Rodger."

"Woo-hoo!" cried some of the boys. "Hear that? For Rodger!" And with that they all hurried to the archery range.

"Ladies first," said Stephen, with a gallant bow.

Eleanor took her position, and lifted and aimed her bow. Her hands were strong and her aim was sure. The arrow flew and struck the target near the center. Some of the young men whistled, but Stephen shrugged it off.

"A lucky shot," he grunted. "She won't better that."

To his chagrin, and Rodger's delight, she did. He took his three shots, but none came closer to the center of the target than Eleanor's. Stephen was forced to concede defeat, and Rodger, pleased and proud, could not resist the opportunity to rub it in.

"I told you not to challenge her. Now, be a gentleman and hand over your money."

Stephen was too good-natured to be ungracious in defeat. He handed the lost bet over to Rodger with a laugh and a hearty handshake for Eleanor.

Rodger and Eleanor left the practice grounds together a short time later, to a chorus of teasing whoops from the other young men. Rodger rejoined his uncle on the field, and Eleanor sat with her family. They did not have the chance to speak to each other that day, but Rodger's heart was light once again, and even more so that night, when he sat beside her at supper, and danced with her all evening.

He had no way of knowing that Robert was simply away with his father on business in the king's behalf, and that he planned to return to stake his claim on Eleanor the very next day. Eleanor never told Rodger. It never occurred to her to tell him. His manner to her convinced her that she was forgiven for failing to return his letter, and he was willing to be friends again.

As for Rodger, all he knew was that Robert was nowhere to be seen. Eleanor's smiles were now for him instead. He no longer regretted what he'd written in his letter to her, or felt angry because she hadn't answered it. There were no doubts in his mind and heart anymore. He loved Eleanor. He always had, and always would.

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At the final feast in celebration of the tournament the next night, Rodger watched as Eleanor joined Robert for supper. After the meal ended, a number of young women hovered on the periphery of his vision, hoping to be invited to dance by the handsome squire who'd demonstrated his manly valor in the lists. But Rodger saw them not. He saw only Eleanor, dancing with Robert once again.

He could look on them no more. He left the banquet hall, walked out to the balcony, stalked along its length several times, and then stared out onto the garden as he had before. The air grew chilly, and a light rain began to fall. It was pointless to get drenched, despite his mood, so he headed back to the sheltering overhang near one of the doors to the banquet hall.

He heard a giggle. A young couple, half-hidden behind one of the thick stone columns, and deep in a passionate kiss, caught his eye. He hesitated. With a shock he saw that the young man was Robert, but the girl's face he could not see. Her back was to him, and Robert's hands were tangled in her long, dark hair.

_Eleanor! _his heart cried. But he slowly realized that the girl was wearing a red dress. Eleanor's gown that night was a pale shade of green. It wasn't Eleanor. Robert, who only a short time ago had been dancing with Eleanor, was now locked in a close embrace with another girl.

Rodger felt his stomach heave. He'd always known there was something about Robert he didn't like. The young man's association with Peter, and his part in the attack after the Nottingham fair, had strengthened his dislike. But now this!

Did Eleanor know? His heart told him no. He knew her too well to believe she would associate with a young man who would sneak behind her back in such a despicable way.

_I have to tell her. She must know. She can't be with Robert. She deserves better. She needs someone who truly loves her. Eleanor needs….me. _

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Rodger waited until Robert and the girl in the red dress parted company. He caught up with Robert just as the betrayer of Eleanor's trust was going back inside the banquet hall, presumably to meet up with Eleanor and deceive her again.

"Robert!" He grabbed hold of Robert's arm and pulled him away from the door. "Going back to Eleanor now?" His lip curled in a disdain he could not hide.

"Rodger of Gisborne." Robert shook off his grip. "Isn't it funny how I keep running into you. What is it now? Can't you find someone else to bother?"

"Stay away from Eleanor," Rodger said, his voice deep and dangerous.

"What?" answered Robert, his brows raised in surprise. "Are you ordering me? What gives you the right—"

"I'm telling you, stay away from her. She's not yours, and she never will be."

"Oh, you think so, do you, Gisborne? She belongs to you, is that it?"

"Eleanor doesn't belong to anyone."

"Then she's free to choose, isn't she? And she's choosing to be with me, so you really don't have anything more to say about it."

Rodger gave Robert such a threatening glower from under his black brows that a wiser man would have heeded his words. But Robert was not that wiser man. He was only a spoiled boy determined to win Eleanor for his own, not because he cared for her, but because he liked the excitement of the chase, and Eleanor, unlike his other conquests, presented a challenge.

"I do have something to say about it," said Rodger. "As her friend, I do. She deserves better than you, at least."

Robert laughed nastily. "Quite the man, aren't you? I can see now why Peter doesn't like you. Can't say I blame him. I don't much like you, either."

"I saw you, with that other girl, out on the balcony. What if I tell Eleanor?"

"Spying on me, huh?" Robert countered. "That other girl? She's nothing to me, just some girl I used to know. And she was kissing me, for your information. But she's nobody. It's Eleanor I care about."

"Get out, Robert," said Rodger. "Go home, and stay away from her, or there will be consequences."

"Says who? Eleanor's my girl, so you go away!" Robert yelled.

A second later the words were driven from his mouth by Rodger's fist. Blood spurted from his split lip. Robert staggered back, and held his hand to his mouth.

"You'll be sorry for that, Gisborne!" he snarled.

"No half as sorry as you'll be if I see you near Eleanor again."

"You just wait, big man!" shouted Robert, even as he beat a hasty retreat several steps further away on seeing Rodger's hard fist rising up for a second blow.

"What is going on?"

The two young men turned to see Eleanor standing in the doorway, staring at them.

Rodger tossed his head. "You ask him."

"Robert? What happened to you? Rodger, did you hit him? Are you two fighting?"

"It's Rodger's fault! He thinks he owns you. He thinks he can tell me to stay away from you."

"That's right, and for good reason!" Rodger retorted. "Eleanor, listen to me. He's trouble, I'm telling you—"

Eleanor took his arm. "Excuse us, Robert." She led Rodger away to a quiet corner of the balcony.

"What is going on here? Why did you hit him? What do you mean, he's trouble? Because of Peter? He doesn't hang around with Peter anymore, that's all over."

"It's not just that. It's—"

"What?"

"You're not the only girl, Eleanor. He's been with others. I saw him, kissing another girl."

"When?"

"A few minutes ago, right over there by that column. I saw him."

"That's impossible. I don't believe you. You must have made a mistake. We've been writing to each other, for months. He came here to see me."

"Do you love him?"

"That's really none of your business, but I like him, yes."

"But no more than like?"

"I don't know! Rodger, it's really not your concern, unless you plan to tattle on me to my parents."

"No, I won't do that. But I don't want you with him. He's no good, Eleanor. He's a cheat and a liar! He'll hurt you."

"I'll see whoever I want! You're not my father, and you're not my brother, so stop telling me what I can and can't do! What does it matter to you, anyway?"

"Because…."

"Because what?"

"Because I—I mean—"

Eleanor gasped as Rodger pulled her into his arms. There was no chance to react before his lips were on hers in a boy's first shy, fumbling kiss. For just a moment she responded with a strange, frightening and yet exhilarating longing. She nestled against him, into his kiss, his strong but ever so gentle embrace, before she drew back in shock and met his countenance. His lips were slightly parted, his lids were half-closed; the long lashes drooped over ice blue eyes that had gone dark. She was as breathless as he.

"Rodger, what are you doing—"

"I love you, Eleanor—"

His mouth was on hers again, insistent and sure this time. He pulled her against his chest and held her close, and she was aware of his strength as never before. Almost she surrendered to it again, before she remembered that this was not Robert. This was Rodger, her childhood friend and onetime playfellow.

_No, this is all wrong!_

"Rodger, stop it!" she cried, and then, without thinking, she wrested herself from his embrace, raised her hand, and slapped him, quite hard, across the face.

He stumbled away from her. All the tender passion vanished from his eyes as he held his hand to his burning cheek.

"Rodger! Oh, I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to—"

Her hand caught at his arm as he turned from her. "Rodger, I'm sorry! You scared me. But I didn't mean to hit you. Rodger, please, don't go! Can't we talk?"

He turned back to her, and this time his eyes were full of, not terrible hurt, but anger. They blazed at her with a cold blue fire in their depths.

"Go ahead, Eleanor, if that's what you want," he said in a low, bitter voice. "Go with Robert. I don't care. But he'll hurt you, you'll see, and someday you'll be sorry for it."

He turned on the heel of his tall black boots and strode rapidly away. Eleanor watched his retreating back as Rodger disappeared around the corner and was lost from sight.

She'd had her first kiss, and not from Robert.

Deep inside Eleanor, past her tomboyish ways and scorn for sentiment, beat a feminine little heart, and it spoke to her of a mortifying consciousness that his kiss, though wholly unexpected, had been far from unpleasant. Very far from it, in fact.

But Rodger had crossed a line that neither could come back from. He had asked something of her that she couldn't give him, and now she had ruined any hope of their remaining friends by humiliating him.

Her throat caught and she choked, and tears stung her eyes. Robert came over and put his arm around Eleanor. He hadn't seen Rodger kiss her. All he knew was that Rodger had disappeared and Eleanor was crying, and he was vastly pleased by the turn of events, despite his sore mouth.

"Come on, don't cry," he whispered into her hair. "I'm sorry about all this. Rodger doesn't know his place if he thinks he can tell you what to do. I don't do that to you, do I? No, and—"

"Robert, don't!" She pulled away. "Just leave me alone! I want to be alone right now!"

Robert was left standing on the balcony by himself. A wiser man might have felt foolish, but he didn't. His face broke into an exultant smile. She'd had angry words with Rodger, they'd parted, and now, with any luck, his rival would be out of the picture for good.

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"Darling, what do you mean, you're not coming home yet? I thought you were ready to come back to Locksley?"

Rodger looked upon the disappointed faces of his mother and his brother and sister. They were at the inn, packing up for the trip home, and Rodger and Archer had come from the castle early in the morning to see them off. Rodger had already told his father he planned to stay a while longer in London, and his father had accepted his decision without remonstrance. But his mother was a different story. There was nothing he could tell her by way of explanation. Some things could not be explained.

Locksley. He missed Locksley village, the fields, the orchards and streams and the woods bordering the deep and mysterious Sherwood Forest that he longed to explore further. And he missed his home, Gisborne Hall. Mother and Father, Richard and Ghislaine—how he longed to sit with them again around the dining table, and say goodnight to them before retiring upstairs to his comfortable and spacious bedroom.

Uncle Robin and Aunt Marian, Allan a Dale and his family, Anna and Reginald, and Hugh and Willie the blacksmiths—all of the people he had known his whole life were back in Locksley village.

But so was Eleanor. Eleanor, who had repaid his devotion by defending that cheating scoundrel Robert, and returned his own heartfelt and loving kiss with a demeaning slap.

"I'm sorry, Mother, and Richard, Ghislaine. I miss you all, but I'm going to stay here a bit longer. It's for the best. Don't worry, I'll be home soon."

Rodger was relieved when his mother did not press him any further. But Meg was more perceptive than he gave her credit for. She had already surmised that his reason for staying behind had something to do with Eleanor.

She looked up at Rodger, her firstborn son, who was no longer a boy, and yet not quite a man, and her mother's heart was sad for him.

_Life is going to hurt him, just like it has his father, and I can't always shield him from the hurt. He must learn to be strong. He must find happiness on the other side of heartache. And he will. I know he will. He's Guy's son, after all. _


	30. Ch 30 Girls Never Know What They Want

**"GIRLS NEVER KNOW WHAT THEY WANT"**

After the tournament, the young squires and pages of King John's court were granted a two-week holiday from training. Rather than go home to Locksley, Rodger accepted Geoffrey's offer to visit his family in Longdale.

He received a warm welcome from Geoffrey's parents, and was treated as a second son for the duration of his visit. Rodger's unspoken anxiety about meeting Geoffrey's sisters disappeared when he saw that they were little girls nowhere near marriageable age, more of an age with Ghislaine, and therefore nothing to worry about. All three were infatuated with their big brother's handsome friend before the first week of the visit was over, but their attentions to him consisted of giggling, tickle fights, hair-pulling and hiding his boots in various places.

During the first couple of days, Rodger was kept busy meeting and dining with a bewildering number of relatives from Geoffrey's large extended family. Later, he and Geoffrey explored the hills and woods around Longdale, and talked of their plans for the future.

They were riding their horses through a wind-swept meadow on the estate one afternoon when Geoffrey broke some unexpected news.

"You're betrothed?"

Geoffrey turned in the saddle to smile shyly at Rodger's astonished expression.

"I guess I never told you, did I?"

Rodger pulled Starlight to a halt and stared at his companion. "When did this happen?"

"Oh, about two years ago."

"What?"

"My parents and hers arranged it all."

An arranged marriage. Rodger was aware that such unions were common amongst the upper classes. They were made for many reasons—to cement political alliances, to settle disputes, to join estates and fortunes. Sometimes the bride and groom were childhood sweethearts, but for others, love had little or nothing to do with the arrangement, and they remained strangers until the wedding day.

Their fellow squire Stephen was betrothed, as were a number of the older squires. Stephen was about to be knighted, after which he planned to marry his young lady and join the king's guard. Geoffrey, by contrast, was only sixteen, yet he had already known for two years who he was destined to marry! Rodger suddenly felt very young and inexperienced and left behind.

"Her folks are friends of my mother and father," Geoffrey added. "And they're all coming here next week."

"So, you're getting married next week?"

Geoffrey laughed. "No! At least I hope not! I mean, I'd rather wait 'til I'm knighted. But that's up to my father."

_I wonder why Father and Mother didn't arrange a marriage for me,_ thought Rodger. _Although their own marriage wasn't arranged. They chose each other. I'm glad they didn't make that decision for me. I'd rather choose my own wife._ _But if they had, who would they have picked?_

He knew the answer without having to give it much thought. _Eleanor._

He reflected back on the day Eleanor came to the practice grounds, and bested that braggart Stephen in a contest of archery. Tall and slim, in a gown of midnight blue, she'd stood poised before the target with the lithe grace of a fallow deer, and shot arrow after arrow into the center with an almost careless ease. Then she'd turned to smile and wink at him, for he was the only one present who knew her secret—that she was master of the bow.

He had watched the young men's faces change from skeptical smirks to openmouthed disbelief, and laughed at the smug smile she then bestowed on them.

How he'd hated that smile when they were children! It was so often leveled mockingly at him after she'd gotten him into some kind of scrape for which he would be punished. But that day her mischievous smile did not anger him, for he was in on the joke. She'd shown those young men a thing or two, and he'd been there to share in her triumph.

_I love her. I've always loved her. She is—Eleanor. She's different from any girl I've ever known. I've met enough other girls to know that. She belongs in my life the way no other girl ever could. _

_I believed, I hoped, I prayed that she loved me, too._

_But, after what happened at the tournament, after what she said and did? I wish I hadn't opened my heart to her. I don't know her now. Her heart is a mystery to me._

Uncertain of how to cross the bridge from friend to lover, and dreadfully afraid of being rejected, he'd held back from telling her how he felt. He'd waited too long, and because of it he'd lost her to another, a young man not worthy of her.

"We, I mean the other squires and I, all think you're betrothed to Eleanor, but you've never said so for sure."

Geoffrey's words startled Rodger out of his brooding.

"You do?"

"Are you? It looks that way. You sat together at the feast, and danced with her. I thought she must be your girl."

It cost Rodger an effort to reply. "No, we're not betrothed. She's a friend, Geoffrey, nothing more."

"Oh. Sorry. We were mistaken. I did see her dancing a few times with another man. Who's he?"

Rodger grimaced and shook his head. "He's someone I wish would just go away."

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Rodger met Geoffrey's future bride a day before he departed to return to London. Rose was a girl of fifteen, rather ordinary looking except for her smile, which brought such a vivid sparkle to her eyes that Rodger was surprised he thought her so plain at first. It was clear that they knew each other quite well. It was also obvious that she was very fond of Geoffrey, and he of her. They chattered away happily with one another upon being reunited. Rodger was thankful he was to leave the next day, as he soon began to feel he was in the way.

Geoffrey gave him a comradely embrace before he left, however, and promised he would be back in London before too long, to finish his training. Rodger had time to mull over the events of the visit on the ride back to London—especially that which concerned his friend's good fortune, and his own lack thereof—but Archer was there to greet him and whisk him off to the nearest tavern as soon as he arrived, and Archer would not tolerate broodiness.

"What's bothering you?" his uncle asked over a pint of ale. "Don't tell me it's nothing—I know better."

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Sure you do. Here, drink up, and I'll order us another round. That should loosen your tongue."

"You're nosy, Archer. You're as bad as any woman."

"Oh, so it's girl trouble, is it?"

"I didn't say anything!"

"You don't have to, Rodger my lad, it's all over your face. You're just like your father. So, who's the girl? Let me guess. Eleanor."

"How did you know?"

"I told you, silly, you don't hide your feelings very well. Anybody can see you're madly in love with her. What's the problem, then? Did you have a row with her? Just kiss and make up."

"Very funny. That's the last thing she wants from me."

"How do you know unless you try?"

Rodger was silent.

"Ah. You already tried, I take it. Didn't go well?"

"You could say that."

"If this is about Robert, I wouldn't worry about him. Her parents don't approve. And you're ten times the man he is, and Eleanor knows it."

"Does she?" Rodger shook his head.

"Come on, talk to me. I understand women. I can help."

When Rodger remained silent, Archer pried further. "What happened when you tried to kiss her?"

Rodger sighed. Archer wasn't giving up. He told him the story.

"Ouch!" Archer exclaimed as he finished. "Well, here's your problem. You grabbed hold of her, just like that, and laid one on her? And then she slapped you?" He threw back his head and laughed.

"It's not funny, Archer," muttered Rodger.

"Al'right, I'm sorry. But, you poor dunce! You're in sore need of some lessons in courtship. You can't just kiss her without warning. No wonder she slapped you. That's no way to treat a girl. You've got about as much finesse as your father."

"Thanks. That really makes me feel better."

Archer grinned. "Well, you punched Robert anyway. Good. He needed it."

"Yeah, but now Eleanor hates me."

"She doesn't hate you. She's a girl, Rodger. Girls never know what they want."

"She wants Robert."

"She only thinks she does because he sweet-talks her. I overheard him at the feast. He tells her what she wants to hear. He's very practiced."

"How do you know?"

"Because I know."

_You know because you're practiced, too,_ thought Rodger. _You sweet-talk women into falling in love with you, and falling into—_

He stopped his train of thought. This wasn't about Archer.

"There's something I didn't tell you. I saw Robert, with another girl."

He related the story to his uncle. Archer's grin faded.

"I told Eleanor, but she refused to believe me. Should I tell her parents about Robert?"

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The tournament was over, the much anticipated trip to London was over. Eleanor was back in quiet, predictable Locksley. Summer stretched before her. Long, lazy days of doing—nothing.

Oh, yes, there were her daily two hours of archery practice. That was more fun than chores, and much more fun than learning from her mother how to prepare for her adult responsibilities as "Lady of the Manor".

Robert was with his uncle in the north of England once again, where he would remain for the summer. She had only occasional, clandestine letters from him, for visits were impossible while he was so far away.

_Mama and Papa still don't approve of Robert as a suitor. I'm beginning to doubt they will ever approve of him. He's become a forbidden subject in our household. I can't bring up his name without getting a lecture._

Rodger had stayed behind in London with Archer, and had spent his holiday with a friend rather than his own family. He hadn't said goodbye to her. He hadn't sent her a letter, and she hadn't written to him.

'_I love you, Eleanor.'_ _Did he really say those words to me? And, does he mean it? Does he love me? Is it true?_

_He kissed me, and I slapped him. Even if I didn't want him to kiss me, to slap his face like that, to humiliate and hurt him! He must hate me for it. We can never be friends now. _

Therein lay the problem for which Eleanor had no answer. Here were these two young men. On the one hand was Robert, of the golden hair and handsome face, the tender gaze and soft, low voice that spoke ever so eloquently of his devotion to her. And on the other was Rodger, her lifelong friend and companion. Quiet, serious, even somber at times, and yet possessed of a passionate fire in his soul that glimmered in the depths of his eyes and burned upon his lips.

'_He'll hurt you, Eleanor,'_ he'd said of Robert, '_and someday you'll be sorry for it.'_

Rodger's accusation troubled her more than she wanted to admit. He wasn't one to lie.

_Will I be sorry? Does Robert truly care about me, or is Rodger right?_

She retrieved Robert's numerous letters, and Rodger's scant handful, from her little golden box, and sat down on her bed. Robert's flowery missives were full of adoration for her, but somehow the initial thrill she had felt upon first reading them was not there with a second reading. Rodger's brief accounts of his life in London could have been written to anyone, except for that one line in his last letter. She read it over and over. When she finished, she put the bundle of letters back in her box and locked it.

She felt no closer to an answer.

_Maybe I should just forget both of them. Who says I have to get married right now, anyway? I'm only seventeen! I don't want to be Lady Anybody yet. I don't want to spend my days sitting in my house supervising __servants and embroidering pillows and having babies. No! _

I wish I could become the next Nightwatchman instead. Sneak out at night with a mask over my face, and have some adventures. Mama did. Why can't I?

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The harvest celebration at the end of summer came and went. Rodger did not come home to join in the festivities, nor did Archer.

"They've gone with Tuck to settle a dispute between two villages on the northern edge of Nottinghamshire," Guy informed the Locksleys one evening over supper. "It's good training for my son. He needs all the experience he can get if he's going to run this estate after I'm gone."

Meg reconciled herself to the situation, and no longer entreated Rodger to come home with every letter she sent him. Her husband was right. She had to give her son room to grow up. Besides, his absence gave Guy the opportunity to pay more attention to his younger children.

As for Eleanor, she thought about writing him a letter. Four times she started one—'_Dear Rodger, I'm so sorry, please forgive me'_—and four times she tore it up. The day after she tore up the fourth letter, a note came from Robert.

'_Dearest Eleanor,'_ it began. She read it eagerly, and sat down to write a reply. But she thought of Rodger, and she put Robert's letter away, and did not answer it.

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One day late in the autumn, a visitor arrived in Locksley village. He called on the first house he came upon, and was directed to Locksley Manor. Robin, Marian and Eleanor had just sat down to the mid-day meal when a knock sounded on the front door. Robin got up to open it, and saw a young man standing on the threshold, a nervous smile on his face.

"May I help you?"

"Are you Robin, Robin Hood?"

"Well, I don't go by that name anymore, but yes. And you are—"

The man's smile relaxed. He reached out his hand. "I'm John Little. My mother is Alice. She used to live here in Locksley, many years ago. I've been told that you knew her, and also a man who went by the name of Little John. I've come to find him. I'm his son."

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**Author's Note: My apologies again for the long delay! Just a word on this chapter-I'm not advocating teenage marriage in any way here. But the customs outlined above are a reflection of medieval times. Teenage marriages, and arranged marriages, among the nobility were typical of the time period. **

**Also, sorry about the chapter title. I don't happen to agree with the sentiment, but those are Archer's words, not mine! :) More story to come. Thanks again for reading and reviewing, and a thank you to my anonymous reviewers as well!  
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	31. Chapter 31 Family Reunion

**FAMILY REUNION**

"After my mother and I and my stepfather Luke moved to Leicester, the only news I ever heard from Nottingham was that the Sheriff was dead."

John Little sat at the table with Robin, Marian, and Eleanor after they ate their meal, and they shared their stories of the past twenty years.

He recounted to them his childhood memories of being dragged off to Nottingham Castle's dungeon with Luke because they could not pay the Sheriff's tax. He recalled the horror he felt upon seeing his beloved mother thrown in prison, too, for protesting their arrests, and the dread they all felt as they awaited their fate.

But the most vivid of his memories was the astonishing moment when he learned that the sullen, silent man in the next cell was the father he'd never known.

"I can't tell you how happy I am that my father's still alive," he said as he finished his tale. "I feared the worst, that it might be too late to find him."

He pulled off the cord with its little wooden tag that he wore around his neck, and handed it to Robin. Robin looked closely at it.

"Do you remember?" John asked. "You and your gang gave me this before I left. I've treasured it all these years."

Robin rubbed the tag between his fingers. Will had carved it, as he had all their tags. Will Scarlett and Djaq, their onetime fellow outlaws and dear friends. So far away now, half a world away. They hadn't heard from them in a long time….

"Yes, I remember." He swallowed the lump in his throat and handed the tag back to John.

Marian sent Eleanor to Gisborne Hall, to invite Guy and Meg to dine with them. John's eyes widened at the mention of Guy of Gisborne.

"He's still in Locksley?"

Robin smiled. "It's okay, John. Gisborne is quite a changed man, you'll see. We'll explain it all when he gets here."

When suppertime arrived, and Guy and his family entered Locksley Manor, the two were formally introduced. John shook Guy's extended hand uneasily.

"Sir Guy," he said, "you have no idea how much you terrified me when I was a child."

Guy bowed acknowledgement. "For that I owe you an apology," he said. "But you've nothing to fear from me now, I assure you. Those days are long over. And your father is a good friend to me, John."

This required more explanation, and the conversation continued throughout supper and beyond. Allan a Dale stopped by later in the evening to talk with Robin.

"Your father?" he said after he met John. "He's an old bear. Just as much of a grouch as ever. But he'll be some happy to see you!"

"We should have a reunion," Marian said. "Let's get everyone together here tomorrow, everyone who's still around."

"That's a great idea!" said Robin. "A reunion! I wish my brother Archer was here, and Rodger, and Tuck. You never met Tuck, did you, John? No, that's right, he joined our gang after you left. Well, perhaps you'll have the chance to meet him someday."

"Someday," said John. "But right now I want to see my father more than anything."

Robin sent a servant to Bonchurch to ask Much and Eve to join their party at noon the following day. It was decided that the best way for Little John to see his son would be for someone to fetch him from the orphanage and bring him back to Locksley.

"I'll go get him," offered Allan. "I'll have him here by morning. And I'll keep the reason a surprise."

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"Allan, what is this? Draggin' me off to Locksley in the wee hours? I've work to do! The orphans—"

"The orphans will do fine without you for a day or two," replied Allan patiently as he helped Little John into the saddle. "They got all them nuns looking after 'em. They won't miss you."

"Hmph," grunted Little John. "And how did you manage that?"

"I'm good with nuns, remember?"

He winked at John, but then he saw the weariness in John's eyes, and it sobered him.

"Look, John, not bein' funny, but you shouldn't be working anyway. You're not well. You need rest."

"I'll rest in my grave, thank you," John shot back. "So, you're not goin' to tell me what this is all about?"

"No, I'm not," Allan grinned, "so stop askin'."

They arrived at Locksley Manor early in the morning. The house was still dark.

"Now what?" Little John groused. "Everyone's asleep, by the look of it. A fine time you picked for a visit, Allan. I'm hungry and I'm tired, and no one is up."

"Quit bellyaching and just wait," answered Allan as they entered the house. "I'll see if anyone's awake yet."

A short time later Allan came back down the stairs, with a yawning Robin and Marian behind him, and a young man rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

"John!" Robin exclaimed. "Good to see you, my friend!" He hugged Little John, and then moved aside as John stepped over to stand in front of his father. Little John looked the young man up and down.

"Have we met?" he asked after a moment's silence. All the others immediately burst out laughing.

"Is everyone but me in on some kind of joke?" he muttered as the laughter died down.

Robin's grin spread across his face. "Don't you know this man?" he teased.

"Now why would I?" answered Little John. "Robin, I've ridden all night while listenin' to Allan's non-stop chatter, and now you want to quiz me when I'm half-asleep."

"Look closely at him," Robin continued.

Little John frowned at the man standing in front of him. He was sure he'd never seen the lad before. But there was something. The eyes, that was it. He'd seen those eyes on someone else. They were—Alice's eyes!

"You're not—no, you can't be! John? My son?"

"Yes, Papa, it's me," cried John, and he flung himself into his father's open arms.

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After they had been thoroughly washed with tears of joy, Little John's kind brown eyes glowed with pride as he looked upon his son.

There was much for him to be proud of. His son had grown into a fine, hardworking man. His stepfather Luke had taught him the cooper's trade, and they now partnered together in Luke's shop.

"How is your mother?" Marian asked, with a sidelong glance at Little John.

"Mama is well," John told them. "She and Luke have made a good life for themselves." He added, "They knew I was coming here, and they asked me to send their best wishes to you. They remember you fondly. You saved them, and me, from the Sheriff, and we haven't forgotten."

John's recollections returned to the Sheriff's infamous "festival of pain" and the torment they and others were put through when they could not pay his exorbitant taxes. Guy looked distinctly uncomfortable with the direction the conversation had taken. He stared at the floor and said nothing. Robin noticed his embarrassment, however, and quickly turned the talk to a more cheerful subject.

"Nottingham is well rid of him, and we have a good Sheriff now," he said. "You haven't told us about yourself yet, John. Do you have a lass?"

"Yes, I'm married, going on seven years now. We have a little boy. He's five. We named him John. My wife would have come with me, but she's expecting another baby soon. I want you to meet her, Papa, and your grandson, as soon as we can arrange it."

"I'm a grandfather! Did you hear that?" Little John beamed as his friends congratulated him. "I'm a grandfather!"

John's voice boomed out as strong as ever, but his thick, rough hair and beard were far more grey than brown, and his craggy face was drawn and thin. His once powerful shoulders were stooped and his big hands were gnarled and swollen.

Robin hadn't seen Little John since the spring, and was startled by the change in him. He had hoped to find John well recovered from his bout of illness over the preceding winter, but the summer had not revitalized him. Mighty Little John, who had saved his friends from certain death so many times by the sheer strength of his body, had shrunken and diminished into an old man. A sudden, deep ache of sadness clutched at Robin's heart.

"I'm not sure your father is well enough to travel," he cautioned young John. "It might be better if you could arrange to come back here."

But Little John would not be put off a moment longer. "No, Robin, I'm fine. I'm going back with him. I want to see my grandchildren."

The reunion around the dinner table in Locksley Manor that day was one none of them ever forgot, least of all John Little. As he listened to the tales of adventure that his father's circle of companions swapped between themselves, he got to know the man who was his father.

They stayed on at the manor for the better part of a week, visiting the family and the villagers, but John needed to get back to his wife and child. Plans were made for his father to accompany him.

"Are you sure you feel up to it?" Robin asked Little John, alarmed at the man's frequent, hollow coughs and the rattling in his chest. "It's a long ride to Leicester, and the weather's turning colder."

"Robin, stop worrying about me. I'd ride through a blizzard all the way to Scotland to see my grandson."

John did not add, '_and I want to see Alice,'_ but he thought it. He wanted to see her, just once, to know she had truly forgiven him for abandoning her and little John. But would she want to see him after so many years, or would it only stir up painful memories best left undisturbed? He did not know, couldn't possibly imagine what awaited him when he should see Alice again, but he had to find out just the same, for he'd never stopped loving her.

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Little John and his son prepared to return to the orphanage the next day, with plans to set out for Leicester on the following day. The families gathered to bid them farewell.

"Goodbye, John," said Guy as he embraced Little John. "Be safe. Send word to us when you return."

"I will, my friend. And you get that son of yours to come home so I can see him. I'm so sorry I wasn't there to watch his first tournament, but he sent me the nicest letter and told me all about it. I'm proud of him. You be sure to tell him that."

Guy smiled. "He's long overdue for a visit home, and so is Archer. I'll see to it that they are here when you get back."

"You're welcome to visit us anytime," Robin said to John Little. "Bring your family with you."

"Thank you," said John. "Perhaps we will."

"No 'perhaps' about it," Little John said firmly. "This is your father speaking, lad. You will come back here, and that's an order!"

And so it was that father and son departed for the orphanage with merry laughter ringing in their ears. As they rode off, the others waved goodbye, and turned and walked back toward the manor.

But Robin lingered a moment longer. He stood in the road leading out of Locksley, until Little John and his son disappeared around a curve and were lost from sight.

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"I'm concerned about your father," the elderly nun said to John Little shortly after sunrise the next morning.

He'd had a tour of the orphanage after they arrived, and met many of the children his father loved and cared for. The little ones hugged his father and climbed on his lap as if he'd been gone for years. He would put none of the children off, no matter how tired he was, so it fell upon John to finally send the children to their rooms and remind his father that they needed to make an early start.

"Goodnight, Papa. Get some rest."

"I'll be up long before you, lad!" his father had declared as he shut his bedroom door.

And now the head nun was telling him that his father hadn't risen at his usual time.

"The lamps are always lit and the fires are always burning by the time the children are up. It's a matter of pride with your father. Of course, he has been unwell. We've urged him to slow down and let some of the older lads help him with the heavy work, but he's ever so stubborn, you know."

"Yes, I know." John smiled. "I'll check on him. He probably overslept. It's been a busy week."

"If he's asleep, best to leave him be. The boys can take care of his tasks this morning."

"Yes. And we can set off a bit later, too. There's really no rush."

John went to his father's room and knocked on the door. There was no response. He knocked louder. Still nothing. He turned the knob and slowly eased the door open. A single candle burned on the bedside table, and a satchel of clothes packed for the journey sat on a chair in the corner.

"Papa," he called gently. "Time to wake up."

He walked over to the bed. His father lay quietly under the thick bedcovering. His eyes were closed. His careworn features appeared softer in the dim light.

"Papa, you're going to sleep through breakfast if you don't wake up."

The silence was unnerving. He choked back a sudden fear, and shook his father's shoulder.

"Papa, wake up!"

In the utter stillness, by the light of the flickering candle, he saw the expression of painless peace that lay upon his father's face.

"Papa?"

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Archer came into the sitting room of his suite in the castle just as Rodger was opening a letter. He threw his coat over a chair, and unbuckled his sword belt and tossed it and his sword carelessly across his bed. He walked over to Rodger and peered down.

"What's that?" Archer asked.

"A letter."

"I know that! Who's it from? Eleanor?"

"No, it's not from Eleanor. It's from my mother."

"Oh. So, what's the news from Locksley?"

"Give me a minute to read it, will you?"

"Sorry."

The letter was short. '_Rodger, come home as soon as you can, _his mother had written. '_Archer, too. Your father and Robin need you. Please come quickly.'_

He looked up at his uncle.

"Archer, we've got to go home to Locksley, now. My mother's asking. It's urgent."

"She's always begging you to come home. What else is new?"

"No. This is different."

Archer came over and put a hand on Rodger's bowed shoulder.

"Rodger, what is it?" he asked as he glimpsed the lad's pale face.

Rodger gazed down at the letter, its few lines blurred by the tears that filled his eyes.

"It's Little John," he murmured. "He's dead."

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**Author's Note: **Okay, readers, don't kill me for this, please! But you knew it had to happen sometime, right? After all, the gang is getting older, and Little John was the oldest one. Nothing against him personally, either-I really like LJ.

I drew on some elements from "Dead Man Walking", from season 1, for this chapter. Many of you will recognize the story of little Little John, his mother, Luke, and of course the Sheriff's "festival of pain", which ended quite badly for him :)

Thank you for reading! More to come!


	32. Chapter 32 Resolves and Regrets

**RESOLVES AND REGRETS**

The funeral was over and Little John was buried before Rodger and Archer obtained permission from King John to return to Locksley. The capricious monarch was in a foul temper over the messy state of his kingdom, and in no mood to grant favours even to those he had a passing liking for. It took all of Archer's skills of persuasion, backed up by the authority of Queen Eleanor, to finally release them.

Archer and Rodger set out for Nottingham the following day. As they rode through the town's crowded streets, many curious and admiring eyes followed them. And no surprise, for they made a splendid pair—two strikingly handsome men, dressed in the rich clothing of the king's court and mounted on beautiful horses. Archer returned the men's stares with a nod, and the women's with a grin and a playful wink, but Rodger looked straight ahead and thought only of home.

He was going home to Locksley. More than a year had passed since he'd walked out of Gisborne Hall with his saddlebags packed, and ridden down the dusty lane that led out of the village onto the road to London.

_I wonder if everything will look the same, or all strange and different?_

They passed through the main gate and across the bridge, and urged their horses into a canter. As Nottingham receded into the distance, Rodger turned and gazed back over his shoulder at the town.

_When I was a child, I thought there wasn't a bigger city anywhere in the world than Nottingham, and no taller stone walls than those of the Castle. I was sure they reached up to the clouds! Funny, I've been in London_ _only a year, but Nottingham_ _looks so small now. _

Something else had changed for Rodger, too. He had passed through the town without fear of encountering Peter or any of his gang, and had ridden by Rowan's carpentry shop with only a casual glance. The terror had gone out of the memory of that night sometime during his year away.

_I'm Sir Guy of Gisborne's son. I know how to wield a sword and swing a battle axe. If that scruffy little bastard bothers me again, I'll run him down with a lance—_

But Little John's words came back to his mind, and quickly crushed out thoughts of revenge.

'_Rise above it, Rodger. Show him you're the bigger man.'_

Rodger smiled to himself. Little John had given him good advice. Discipline, self-control, restraint—these were the qualities that made one a man. He would not follow his father's regrettable path. He'd continue to be the bigger man. The past was behind him, where it belonged and where it needed to stay.

He only wished that Little John wasn't part of the past, too.

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Rodger led Starlight into his old stall next to his brother and sister's ponies. When he entered the house, the familiar surroundings embraced him like a warm and comforting hug. His parents, his brother and sister, and all the servants were there to greet him. His mother ordered his favourite meal. Later that evening, he went upstairs to his room. A fire blazed in the hearth, the bed was piled high with pillows, and Ghislaine had tucked two of her kittens under the quilt to keep him company.

But for all that, it was a somber homecoming.

Rodger spent most of the next day getting reacquainted with Richard and Ghislaine. They were eager to share their latest accomplishments with their older brother. Richard had new drawings and songs to play on his lute. Ghislaine, quite the little horsewoman, had a new pony, and had just learned to jump over some low hurdles. For a while Rodger was able to forget what had called him home, until the evening meal at Locksley Manor brought them all together again.

When the Gisbornes arrived at the manor, they saw John Little sitting near the fire with Robin and Marian. After the greetings and introductions were made, John sat back down wearily. He'd stayed with the Locksleys to help arrange his father's burial. Now that it was done, the depth of his loss was beginning to sink in.

"I should have come sooner," he sighed through his tears.

"It's all right," said Marian. "You did find him, John. Your father was happy."

"The happiest he's been in a long time," added Robin.

But John would not be easily comforted. "He won't see his grandchildren now. I should have looked for him years ago."

_Why didn't you, then?_ Robin wanted to ask, but he shut his lips before the words came out. _No,_ _he's already blaming himself. No need to add to his guilt about something that can't be changed now. Little John should have tried to find his son, too, but he didn't, and he never said why. Only he knows, and he took that to the grave with him. _

John saw the question in Robin's eyes, however, and he felt moved to explain.

"I never knew him. He left before I was born. Luke was the only father I knew. At first I stayed away for my mother's sake. He hurt her so much that I wasn't ready to forgive him for it. And then, well, life just got in the way. I learned my trade from Luke, and I got married and started a family. But I thought about him, I did. I thought that if I found him then maybe I could understand why he left my mother and me. Maybe we could have—"

"Just remember that you did find him, and because you did, he was able to die at peace," said Meg. "You gave him a wonderful gift."

"Meg's right," said Guy, with a tender smile at his wife.

"But what if my coming here killed him? Maybe the shock of seeing me—"

"No," said Robin. "It's not your fault. Your father was ill for some time. Matilda told us his heart was failing. I'm surprised he lived this long, to tell you the truth. You might have given him a shock, John, but it was a happy shock. People don't die from that."

"It was just his time," added Marian. "Don't blame yourself."

They were later joined by Much and Eve and their little daughter, and Allan and Catherine and their brood. Quiet reminisces were exchanged over supper. Everyone had a tale to tell about Little John. John grew more cheerful as the evening went on, and was able to listen to their stories with tolerable composure.

Rodger had seen Eleanor as soon as he walked in the door, and he remained acutely aware of her presence all through the visit. She in turn was very conscious of him. They spoke no words to each other, not even a greeting. Only a few furtive glances passed between them.

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After supper, Rodger joined his mother beside the fire.

"How did it happen, Mother? Was he ill for long?"

"No. He died in his sleep, darling. I don't think he suffered."

_Like Prancer,_ thought Rodger. _Just like my old pony. He died in his sleep, too, out in the pasture on a sunny day, happy and content._

"I wrote to him, but I wanted so much to see him again. I never got to say goodbye."

He felt his father's hand touch his shoulder. Guy came around him to sit beside Meg.

"Father, Mother, remember the night I ran away, after I learned about—"

"We remember," said his father. "You went to Little John. Rode all night through the cold to see him."

"He was so kind to me. He helped me make sense of things. Everything was better after I talked to him."

"Little John was a wise man," said his mother. "And he loved you very much."

"His last words to me were about you," his father added. "He told me he was very proud of you. He wanted you to know that."

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John Little departed for the orphanage the next day to collect his father's belongings. Rodger and Archer rode with him. They left him at the house, surrounded by the children his father had cared for and loved, and walked in silence to the burial plot.

Rodger smiled through his sadness when he glimpsed the ornate stone pillar in one corner of the cemetery, about which Uncle Robin had warned him ahead of time. Archer was more effusively amused.

"Just look at this, will you?" he chuckled. "Robin wasn't joking when he said your father insisted on putting up a monument instead of a simple stone. I wonder what Little John would've thought of it?"

They read the inscription on the stone:

_John Little of Locksley, Nottinghamshire. 1147—1214 A.D. He was "Little John" to his friends, "Papa Bear" to the children of Rufford Abbey Orphanage, father of John Little, and beloved grandfather. We will never forget you, Big Bear._

Rodger easily guessed what humble Little John would have thought of the elaborate headstone.

"He'd have laughed at my father's grand gesture," he said with a smile. "He'd have called it utter nonsense. Except for these words. He'd have been pleased about this."

"Yes, I think you're right," said Archer.

"Little John was such a good friend to our family, and to me. I wish I could have seen him one more time. There's so much I left unsaid…."

Archer put his arm around his nephew's shoulder. "I miss him, too, lad."

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_No one cares about me anymore. I might as well disappear. _

Eleanor sat on her bed. Her mother had called her down to supper, repeatedly, but she wasn't hungry, at least not hungry enough to sit through another miserable evening with the Gisborne family.

John Little had gone home to his wife and child, and now her father and Uncle Guy were engrossed in conversation with Archer much of the time. She'd heard snatches of their talk and it all sounded rather dull—something about King John's continuing troubles with the barons, who were determined to force him to sign some document being drawn up with the funny name of Magna Carta.

_Who cares? Men are always fighting about something. In the meantime I haven't had an archery lesson with Papa in three weeks._ _He's forgotten me in all this fuss over Little John. I'm sad that he died, too, but he was ancient, for goodness' sake! And he was such a grump. _

_No, I suppose that's not fair. He was a good man, and my parents' friend. _

_But Mama doesn't notice me, either. She and Aunt Meg are too busy fussing over Rodger and Archer. Spoiling them rotten. As if Rodger deserves it. I didn't expect much from him after what happened, but the __way he pointedly ignores me is getting unbearable. I want to shake him, slap him, scream in his face, anything to get a reaction. I just wish— _

She sighed, threw herself across her bed, and hugged her pillow. There wasn't much hope in wishing for anything. Not long ago she'd asked her mother to describe the costume she'd worn as the Nightwatchman, and show her some of her "moves", but Mama had squelched that plan flat.

'_Don't be silly, Eleanor,'_ Mama had said. '_Locksley doesn't need a Nightwatchman. No one is starving in our village, your father and Guy see to that.'_

She'd then asked to be allowed to visit London.

'_You can't go there by yourself,'_ Papa had argued. '_It's not safe for a girl alone.'_

"_Then what about—"_

'_No!'_

The answer was always no.

_They treat me like a baby. Rodger goes off to London_ _and enjoys all kinds of adventures with Uncle Archer. What do I get to do? Nothing! Not that anyone cares. No one cares how I feel. If I disappeared tonight, it would be days and days before anyone even noticed…._

She didn't want to cry. Someone, most likely Mama, would be sure to knock on the door and demand to know what was wrong.

_I won't cry, I won't!_

She buried her face in the pillow and silently screamed. Just as she did, a knock sounded on the door. She dashed the telltale tears from her eyes.

"Who is it?" she asked. _Maybe it's Rodger. Maybe he wants to talk—_

"It's Edith, my lady. There was a letter delivered for you just now."

"Come in."

The maidservant curtsied and handed Eleanor the letter. Eleanor shut the door after her and tore open the letter.

_Dearest Eleanor, _

_I hope this message gets to you in time. My father is sending me to my uncle's again, for at least a year. I don't want to go. I can't abide my uncle. He's a tyrant and a bully. I won't see you again if I'm sent away, because my parents are arranging a marriage for me. I've met her and don't like her one bit, but I'll be forced to marry her when I return home if we don't do something now._

_This is our only chance. I'll send someone to meet you, tonight. He'll be waiting at the stable in Nettlestone with a horse for you. If you agree, he'll take you to me, and we can leave together. I know a priest in London_ _who will marry us, no questions asked. We won't need our parent's permission. They'd never give it anyway, we both know that, but our love is stronger than their disapproval! _

_Eleanor, dearest, you're the only woman for me. I've always known it. We were made and meant for each other. I love you so much. Please, if you love me, be my wife. Marry me. I'll make you so happy, I promise! _

_all my love, Robert_

Eleanor sat back down on her bed, her face white and her body empty of breath. It was all so sudden, and so crazily insane.

_Run away with Robert and marry him? Without anyone knowing until it's final?_ _I can't! What would Papa and Mama say? They'd be so angry with me. They want me to get married here, in Locksley, with all my family and friends in attendance, not sneaking off like this as if I'm doing something shameful. _

_But they want me to marry Rodger. I'm as good as engaged to him in their eyes. Why? Rodger hates me! Hasn't he shown it clearly enough? He wouldn't marry me now if I were the last girl on earth. _

_Robert loves me, enough to risk his father's anger to be with me. Shouldn't I be willing to do the same for him? No one else loves me the way he does, not even my own family…. _

Eleanor stuffed some clothes untidily into her satchel, and threw in her hairbrush and a few other necessities. She tore a piece from the bottom of Robert's letter and scribbled a note to her parents. Then she opened her window, dropped the satchel to the ground, and climbed out on the roof.

Ah, yes, there it was! Allan had left a ladder leaning against the back of the house where he'd been making some repairs to the roof. Eleanor swiftly climbed down the ladder, grabbed up her satchel, and ran through the darkness toward Nettlestone.

In her haste to escape, she had left Robert's letter lying in plain sight on her bed.

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"Where is that girl?" demanded Marian, hands on hips as she looked up the stairs.

"Perhaps she's tired and went to bed early," suggested Meg.

"That's not like her," answered Marian. "She loves to stay up late."

"It's all right if she wants to stay in her room."

"She's just being stubborn, Meg. She's been sulking all day, come to think of it, for no reason that I'm aware of."

One of the maidservants brought a tray of cakes and set it on the table.

"Edith, were you upstairs a while ago? Is Eleanor still in her room?"

"Yes, Lady Marian. I brought up a letter for her."

"A letter? At this time of night? Who delivered it?"

"I don't know, my lady. A boy. No one I've seen before. He said he was a friend of Eleanor's. I asked his name. He wouldn't give it to me at first. He was quite impolite, my lady. Finally he said his name was….oh, dear, what was it? Peter? Yes, that was it."

"Peter?"

Marian climbed the stairs and rapped on Eleanor's door.

"Eleanor, what are you doing in there? It's bad enough that you didn't come down to supper, but we have company. You're being rude, young lady! Come on out here."

Marian opened the door. No Eleanor, but the window was up and cold air was blowing in.

"Eleanor, where are you?"

Marian peered out the window, but could see nothing. She looked around the room. There was a sheet of paper on the bed, and a smaller piece on the candle stand. She picked them up and read them both.

'_Dearest Eleanor'_ began one, and the other, '_Papa and Mama….'_

She dropped them with a gasp and ran to the landing.

"Robin!"

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**Author's Note:** Anyone besides me want to smack Eleanor right about now? :P Well, she's still quite young. Her parents did some pretty crazy and impulsive things. Like Robin and Marian, like daughter. She will grow up eventually, I promise! And maybe see through Robert in time? Rodger has some growing up to do, too. More to come! Thanks for reading, and for your patience-I know this update was slow in coming. (very busy last month!)


	33. Ch33 How To Turn Parent's Hair White

**HOW TO TURN YOUR PARENT'S HAIR WHITE**

Eleanor entered the stable. It was dark and quiet. A horse snorted and pawed the floor with a heavy, iron-shod hoof. The sudden sound made Eleanor jump.

"Hello? Is there anyone there?"

"Thought you'd never get here," said a disembodied voice from the vicinity of one of the stalls. Eleanor jumped again.

"Who are you?" she asked.

A young man, leading a horse, stepped out from the shadows and into the faint light near the doorway.

"Are you Lady Eleanor?"

"Yes. Are you the person sent to meet me?"

"Uh-huh."

"What's your name, please?"

"What does it matter? I'm taking you to your lover boy Robert, aren't I?"

Eleanor drew herself up and addressed the stranger in her best authoritative voice.

"I'm not going anywhere with you until I know who you are!"

He laughed. "You're as nosy as that stupid servant who answered your door."

He threw back his head and sneered unpleasantly at her. She could just make out his features in the dim light.

"The name's Peter. And yeah, I'm that Peter. What of it?"

Eleanor dropped her satchel and stared at him as though he were a venomous snake.

"Robert told me he wasn't associating with you after what you did to Rodger. He told me—"

"Well, he's a liar then, isn't he. Look, I haven't got all night to stand around discussing this. Are you coming with me or not?"

Eleanor's shoulders slumped in dismay. Half an hour ago, running away with Robert had seemed so right and perfect. But Peter had called him a liar.

_No, no!_ Her heart cried out a denial. _Robert loves me. We can start a new life, far from Locksley. No more mean parents, no more snubs from Rodger._

Exactly where she and Robert would begin that new life with no place to go, and what money they would live on should his father disown him, she did not stop to think about. Somehow, it would all work out. She had only to get to Robert, and if Peter was the one to take her there—

She sighed and picked up the satchel. "I'm coming."

Peter turned the horse toward the door and vaulted easily into the saddle.

"What am I going to ride?" she asked.

"You'll ride behind me," was the curt response. "Mount up."

Eleanor was ready with an objection, but the boy was so rude and abrupt that she had no wish to argue with him further. She threw the satchel onto the horse's back. Peter made no move to assist her as she struggled to mount. She barely had time to balance herself before he kicked the horse's ribs and they shot out of the stable and onto the road. They rode along at such a tremendous pace that she was forced to grab him around the waist to keep from falling off.

"Can't you slow down?"

"No."

Eleanor remembered Mama's story of her rescue from Uncle Guy. Papa had boldly ridden up on his horse, right under the noses of the guards, and whisked Mama off to the safety of Sherwood Forest after she punched Guy during the wedding vows, tore off her ring and veil, and ran away from him. How exciting, how thrillingly romantic!

But there was nothing exciting or romantic about this. She hung on for dear life, her hair flying in her face and her arms wrapped unwillingly around the detestable Peter. Why hadn't Robert come for her, as Papa had come for Mama, instead of sending Peter, of all people, to meet her?

Surely there was an explanation. Yes, no doubt a good and sensible reason. In any case, it would all end well. Peter would take her to Robert, and then all would be perfect.

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"She's not in Nettlestone," said Robin, rubbing his furrowed brow in frustration. "Whoever she was meeting at the stable, they've already gone."

"This can't be happening!" exclaimed Marian. "How could she be so foolish?"

"She's not foolish, Marian," said Meg gently, "she's just young."

But Marian didn't hear her. Instead, she turned on her husband.

"Robin, this is your fault!"

"My fault? How do you figure that?"

"You spoiled her. You always let her do exactly what she wanted, and now look what she's done! Run off with that boy, and if we don't find her and stop her she'll marry him."

"Oh-ho, and who is she like? Dare I mention someone else who's stubborn and doesn't listen to me and does what she wants?"

"Don't you blame me! At least I've tried to curb her. You're the one who never tells her no."

"That's not true. I've told her no plenty of times."

"Oh, I should have seen this coming! She was with him at the tournament. They danced together. You saw them, Robin. Why didn't you chase him off then?"

"Me? You're her mother. Why didn't you?"

"Ahem," said Guy. He cleared his throat and tried not to smile, though he took a perverse pleasure in watching Robin and Marian argue. Robin was so cocky when he was convinced of his own rightness, and Marian was so pretty when she was angry. Her pale cheeks were flushed rosy pink and her eyes were flashes of clear blue sky.

"Sorry to interrupt this riveting discussion," Guy continued, tearing his eyes from Marian and back to Robin, "but while you're deciding who's more guilty of spoiling the girl, your daughter is getting further and further away. Shouldn't we make a plan, or half-a-plan if you like, and find her?"

"You're right, Guy. Marian, where's that letter? Where were they going?"

"To London." She handed the letter to Robin.

"We don't know where she's meeting Robert, but we do know they're headed for London. We need to stop them before they get there and disappear. There's only one main road from here to there, so unless they take some other way, we've got a chance of finding them. Guy, Rodger, saddle the horses. Archer, come with me. I'll see if we can recruit some help."

"I don't want this to be broadcast all over the village," Marian objected.

"Then we'll be discreet," answered Robin. "We'll go ourselves, just our family. Marian, are you coming?"

"Of course."

"I'll stay here," offered Meg, "and look after the children."

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Finally, the bone-shaking ride was over. Eleanor wasn't sure whether to laugh at the absurdity of it all or cry with relief when she saw Robert running toward her. She scrambled off the horse and rushed to him. He swept her up in an embrace, and then his lips were on hers. It was the first time he had kissed her on the mouth. His mouth was hungry and greedy and almost rough, not gentle like Rodger's. For a second she pulled away from him with a feeling akin to revulsion, before reminding herself that this was Robert. She loved him! He was going to take her away to a whole new life where she would be adored and appreciated.

"We've got to hurry!" he said as he strapped her satchel to his saddle. "They'll be after us as soon as we're missed."

"Where are we going?"

"To London."

"Yes, I know, but that's a long way from here. We can't get there in one night. Maybe we shouldn't—"

"Stop worrying!" His voice was impatient. "Have a little faith in me. I've got it all figured out."

Eleanor caught Peter's smirk from the corner of her eye. She wished he would go away, now that his part in the elopement was done, and leave them alone, but he remained on his horse and showed no signs of departing.

"There's an out-of-the-way inn we can stay at tonight, and then we'll make for London tomorrow."

"I-I can't stay at an inn with you. Not if you mean in the same room. It wouldn't be right."

"Well, I'm not paying for two rooms, silly. What's the problem? You're as good as my wife now anyway."

"I'm not your wife, not until I marry you properly."

"Oh, yes, I forgot. You're Little Miss Prim and Proper, aren't you?" he said. "And you weren't even brought up in a convent."

If he meant to be funny, it didn't work. Eleanor heard only sarcasm.

"Robert, why are you being like this?"

"Why are you dragging your feet?"

"I don't like the way you're talking to me. In fact, I don't like this whole business. I don't like all this sneaking around and running away."

"You were willing to a moment ago."

"Well, I've changed my mind."

"Just like a woman," Peter muttered under his breath. "Can't stay in the same mind from one minute to the next."

"Peter, stay out of this!" snapped Robert. "Eleanor, please, we need to go, now. Let's not argue about it."

"You haven't told me why we're in such a hurry, and I'm not going anywhere until you do."

She sat down on a fallen log and crossed her arms. No sooner had she done so than Robert took hold of her arm and hauled her bodily off the log and toward his horse.

"Ouch! Stop it!" she cried.

"Now, don't get stubborn on me. Get on the horse!"

"No! Not until you tell me!"

Peter grinned at the spectacle. "I'll tell you why Robert's in a hurry, darling, if he won't," Peter said.

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Robin and Marian, Guy, Archer, and Rodger rode at a gallop toward Mansfield.

"We'll find out first if Sir Henry knows anything," Robin shouted over the thunder of hoof beats, "and we'll start our search from his house. They couldn't have gotten far."

Halfway to Mansfield, however, they were met by Sir Henry and two servants, who were on their way to Locksley.

"Yes, Robert left me a note, too," Sir Henry told them. "Wait until I get my hands on that worthless son of mine!"

"He left a letter for my daughter," said Marian, "just before she ran away. He said you were arranging a marriage for him against his will."

"Against his will?" answered Sir Henry. "Perhaps it was, Lady Marian, but I'm afraid it was necessary." He shook his head with resignation. "You may as well know the truth. My son, well, he—"

And as Sir Henry, unlike his son, was an honest man, the Locksleys soon knew the truth.

"We've got to stop them!" cried Marian. "Robin, our daughter!"

"We'll find them, Marian. Sir Henry, I'm not familiar with this area. Where's the nearest road in the direction of London?"

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"Shut your mouth, Peter!" Robert bawled at him, but Peter only laughed.

"Got a girl in trouble, didn't you, laddie?"

"You back-stabbing little—"

"What?" gasped Eleanor. She wrenched herself from Robert's grip and faced him. "You got a girl in trouble? That kind of trouble? What girl? Who—when—"

"I heard tell there might be more than one who's got herself a bellyful from your Robert," Peter snickered. "One for sure, the nobleman's daughter he's running away from."

"Robert? Is this true?"

"It's a lie! Don't listen to him, Eleanor!"

"You said your parents arranged a marriage for you. Is this why, because you got her—"

"It's not like that, Eleanor. It was all a mistake. I don't want to marry her, I love you!"

"You say that, and yet you—I can't believe it! I trusted you, and you lied to me!"

"No, Eleanor, I love you, I do! I don't care anything about her. It's all in the past."

"Pretty recent past," remarked Peter dryly, until Robert shot him a scathing glance.

"Please, love, we need to get out of here before they come after us. If my father catches me we'll never be together. Is that what you want, to be torn apart forever?"

She looked up at him. He was so handsome. His golden hair shimmered in the moonlight, his eyes shone earnestly into hers. All those beautifully worded letters of love and devotion danced before her mind's eye. He couldn't have been toying with her, he couldn't!

He'd made a mistake with a girl, yes, but he was hardly the first. He was a young nobleman. These things happened. They would get married, and then he'd go home and face his parents. He would pay for the child's upbringing, if indeed the child was his. If luck was on their side, her parents would soon marry her off to another. The scandal would die down, and she and Robert would live happily ever after….

_No! What am I thinking? There can be no happily ever after, not if this is all true. Rodger tried to warn me about Robert. He said Robert would hurt me. Rodger was right, but I didn't listen because I was angry with him._

_Would Rodger have tried to talk me into running away with him instead of being married in Locksley with all our family and friends there to celebrate with us? Would he have wanted us to hide in some grubby inn, and expect me to sleep with him before we were married? _

_No, because Rodger is a gentleman. He always does what is right. He didn't take cowardly revenge on Peter or Robert after what they did to him. He competed with honour and chivalry in the tournament. He's good to his family, and he's never lied to me or tried to get me to do something shameful. _

_And this is shameful—eloping with Robert so that he can escape marriage to a girl he left with child, his child. _

_What am I doing here? Have I lost my mind? I can't do this! No, this is wrong! _

"Robert, I'm not doing this. This isn't the right way. I'm sorry, but I can't marry you, not now. I want to go home."

Instead of pleading with her to change her mind, as she expected, he took hold of her arm once again, and shook her.

"It's too late to turn back now, Eleanor," he said through gritted teeth. His loving gaze was now cold, and his eyes glittered with barely suppressed fury. "You're not going to make a fool of me. You agreed to marry me, and that's final as far as I'm concerned. Now, get on the horse, or I'll put you up there myself."

A sudden realization struck Eleanor. This was the husband that Robert would become—harsh, domineering, even cruel if his will was contested. She recalled the story of how Uncle Guy had reacted when Mama had run out on their almost-wedding. He'd taken his revenge upon her when he burned down Knighton Hall, and dragged her and her ailing father off to house arrest in the Castle.

Was Robert, up until now so sweet and charming in his wooing of her, about to turn into another vengeful Gisborne? She had no intention of staying around to find out. It was dark and cold, and they were miles from Locksley, but she did not want to ride home with Peter, nor with Robert, who was not the man she had believed him to be.

"Someone's coming," said Peter. "Methinks it's your family here to rescue you."

They saw the torches through the trees, and then heard familiar voices.

"Eleanor!" her father called. "Is that you?"

"Robert! Are you there?" It was Sir Henry. Robert turned to Eleanor in a panic.

"Come on, now!"

"No, Robert, I'm not going!"

Their pursuers rounded the curve of the road and reined in their horses. Eleanor saw her father and mother, her Uncle Guy and Uncle Archer. And Rodger. Her heart sank.

"Robert, Eleanor! What is going on here?" demanded Robin. "You'd both better have a good explanation!"


	34. Chapter 34 A Disaster Averted

**Author's Note: **Once again I must apologize, dear readers, for the long delay. I've been dealing with serious illness, which forced me to put story writing on the shelf for a while. However, I'm still committed to finishing this story, so don't give up on me, please! This chapter continues where the last one left off, and then skips ahead a bit, as you'll see. I'm hoping to wind things up in the next few chapters. Thank you for reading, and stay tuned for more!

* * *

><p><strong>A DISASTER AVERTED<strong>

Neither his daughter nor Robert could come up with a sensible answer to Robin's question. In fact, all of them were rendered momentarily mute. The only sounds to be heard were the low wind in the trees, the horses champing their bits, and the fast and labored breaths of guilty and innocent alike.

Robin and Marian, and Guy and Archer, stared at Eleanor. Wide-eyed and open-mouthed, she stared back. Robert still had his hand clamped on her arm. When both Robin and Sir Henry fixed the would-be seducer with furious glares, however, Robert gulped hard, released his hold on Eleanor, and unconsciously gave her a shove away from him.

Out of the corner of his eye, Rodger saw Peter, half-hidden in the shadows of the trees. He sat his horse with a pleased grin on his face at the awkward tableau. When he spied Rodger, his grin changed to a churlish sneer. Rodger looked away, but his face burned, and his fists and jaw were clenched as tight as Guy's.

Suddenly, the tense silence cracked open like melting spring ice, and a torrent of shouts spewed forth.

"Eleanor, what were you thinking?"

"Robert, how dare you! You're coming home this instant!"

"No! You can't make me marry that girl! I won't!"

"You will do as I say, and there will be no argument, do you understand me?"

"Eleanor, you're just as much at fault. We trusted you, and you lied to us!"

"Mama, no, it's not like that—"

"Peter? What the hell are you doing here?"

"Eleanor, why are you here with him? Answer me!"

"I-I needed a ride, and Peter—"

"You rode here with him? After what he did to Rodger? How could you?"

"It's not what you think, Papa!"

"No more, Eleanor. Don't say another word. I'm ashamed of you!"

"Peter, I thought I told you I didn't want you around my son! What's the meaning of this?"

The angry tirade rang out for several more minutes, and then, just as suddenly, silence descended again. Marian was the first one to break it.

"I think it's time we all went home," she said through her teeth. "I bid you goodnight, Sir Henry. Thank you for your help in finding our children. Eleanor, let's go."

"Mama—"

"You heard your mother," Robin said. "Get on my horse."

Eleanor had never heard such a tone in her father's voice before. She obeyed without further protest, but didn't look at Robert, so she would not be enticed again by his appealing eyes and lying lips.

"On your horse, too," Sir Henry ordered his son. "Peter, leave, now."

"Certainly, Sir Henry," said Peter, with an elaborate salute of his hand. "Ladies, gentlemen, I wish you all a very pleasant evening."

With a final smirk, Peter turned his horse and cantered off. Archer caught a glimpse of Guy's face, and reached over to grip his arm.

"Easy, brother. Don't. Just let him go."

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The ride home was a silent one. Even Archer knew better than to make jokes at such a time. After they reached Locksley, only a few, short, necessary words were spoken, before they went to their respective homes for what little remained of a night's sleep. None of them got much sleep except Archer, who considered the disaster as averted and the matter settled. Eleanor knew the matter was far from over, however. The romantic elopement of only a few hours past had ended in utter shame and degradation. She was to drink deeply of that shame in the days that followed.

On her father's orders she was restricted to the house, but she didn't mind, for she had no wish to walk about in the village. No one was aware of the business except her family, but she did not know this, and morbidly imagined that she was the subject of gossip in every peasant's cottage.

She, the daughter of Robin of Locksley and Lady Marian, had eloped with a weak and foolish young man devoid of moral fiber and integrity. Other girls in Locksley had these silly love affairs, of course, and many a time she had laughed heartily at their expense. But she had always believed herself above such feminine stupidity. She had prided herself on her good judgment when it came to the opposite sex. No decent young man would ever get the better of her, let alone one like Robert!

_He'll hurt you, Eleanor, and some day you'll be sorry for it._

She hadn't listened to Rodger's warning, or given heed to her parents' disapproval, and she had no one to blame but herself. Oh, the look Rodger had given her! He hadn't said anything, not a word, but there was no mistaking the deep disappointment in his eyes. She had sunk in his estimation, and somehow that hurt more than any mocking triumph might have.

Rodger was everything that Robert wasn't—and she had rejected him. Rodger was loyal and honest, noble and courageous—and she had slapped his face when he'd told her he loved her. Rodger could have any girl he wanted—and he had wanted her. But he would never want her back now, not after what she had done.

One part of the whole regrettable affair roused her deepest shame, and the irony of it did not escape Eleanor. She was in Peter's debt! She owed Peter, who had treated Rodger so cruelly, for the knowledge of Robert's duplicity. To have to feel grateful to him for sparing her from a fate almost worse than death—marriage to a lying, weak-willed cheat—was more humiliation than she could bear.

It was no less dreadful for her family, since they also were in Peter's debt for saving Eleanor from further disgrace. They had to endure Peter's knowing smirks when they chanced to encounter him in town. This was particularly irksome to Guy, since he could not confront the lad or his father without causing more trouble. All they could do was hope that Peter would not broadcast the story all over Nottingham.

One night, Eleanor sat down and re-read Robert's letters, and was appalled to think she could ever have imagined herself in love with him. His courtship and his professed love for her were nothing more than a scheme to seduce her into marrying him so that he could get her inheritance, and not have to marry the young woman he'd left with child. The beautifully written letters contained nothing but lies. She tore them to pieces and threw them into the fireplace.

The following week she heard that Robert had married his pregnant lover. The new couple had been sent away to the north of England to live with his uncle, and Robert's inheritance had been given to a more promising younger brother. Eleanor never saw him again.

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Archer and Rodger left for London. Eleanor's punishment ended soon after, but she remained quiet and withdrawn. Robin and Marian decided the best thing for their high-spirited daughter would be to have some work to do.

"I remember how frustrated I felt with nothing useful to do," Marian said to Robin. "That's why I became the Nightwatchman. It was better than just waiting around for a husband."

"Or trying to decide which potential husband you wanted most," Robin teased.

"Robin, you know what I mean. Let her get involved in something worthwhile, and she'll get her mind off Robert."

They went to Eleanor with a proposal. "You're not a little girl, Eleanor," they said to her, "so we're not going to treat you like one anymore."

The very next day Eleanor joined her mother and Meg on their weekly rounds of Locksley, Clun and Nettlestone, carrying supplies of food and clothing to needy peasants.

They met up with Matilda, who was nursing a sick villager in Clun, and Eleanor got her first lesson in grinding and mixing herbs for medicines. She rolled her eyes and groaned outwardly at first, but inwardly she became quite interested in Matilda's art, and asked to accompany them the following week. Robin and Marian were relieved to see her complaining attitude gradually diminish, to be replaced with a spirit of cooperation.

Eleanor learned something as she worked alongside her father and mother. The present was not as exciting as the adventures of the past—no daring escapes and thrilling last-minute rescues. But the past was not as glamorous as she had once believed, either. Her parents' young lives had been fraught with real danger, cruelty, and heartache. They and their friends had fought hard for the freedom of the people of Nottingham, but it had come at a heavy price. Now all they wanted was to live in peace and care for the villagers under their authority.

Eleanor began to view Aunt Meg in a different light as well. She had always seen Meg as rather weak because she was gentle and nurturing. But now she perceived the strength behind the kindness. Caring for others as Meg did was not weakness, any more than her parents were weak. Strength of character took many forms and had many faces.

As Eleanor became more and more involved in her work, she began to experience the joy that comes from unselfish giving, and as the days and months passed, a wonderful thing happened to her. Eleanor grew up.

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The rest of the winter passed quietly. Much and Eve welcomed a baby boy, and Allan and Cate added a seventh and final child to their lively family.

In June of 1215 A.D., Robin and Guy, and Marian and Meg, met up with Rodger and Archer in London, and joined the many other nobles from Nottinghamshire who were there to witness the signing of the Magna Carta at Runnymede.

There was much rejoicing in Locksley upon their return, and a feast was held to celebrate England's new, more just laws. But peace was not to last. Many anxious days and sleepless nights haunted the residents of Locksley Manor and Gisborne Hall as they waited for word from Archer and Rodger. Every time a letter arrived, it was eagerly read and passed around the family.

In October of the following year, 1216 A.D., they learned of the death of King John, and the succession of his son Henry III.

King John, the man who had tyrannized over them for so many years, was gone. The two families, along with Allan and Much and their wives, held a private celebration of their own at the news, although Meg protested that it was in poor taste to rejoice at a man's death. Eve took a slightly tipsy Much home later in the evening, but for Robin and Guy and Allan, the party lasted until the wee hours. Their wives let them sleep where they lay, draped over the table in Locksley Manor, snoring heavily under the stupefying influence of a great quantity of ale.

Archer and Rodger had survived the months of war in the king's service. There was only one thing left to hope for—that they would be released from young King Henry's service and allowed to return to Locksley.

"Is there any way to bring it about?" Robin wrote to Tuck, and Tuck replied, "I'll see what I can do."

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One morning a loud knock sounded on the front door of Locksley Manor. Marian opened the door, and there stood Archer and Rodger, dirty and disheveled, both of them, their clothes and their cloaks muddy and sweat-stained, swords strapped to their hips and longbows slung across their shoulders.

"You're home!"

"Yes, my dear Marian, we're home," answered Archer, with a twinkle in the eyes that were very blue in his wind-burned face. "For good this time. I've been commissioned as Sheriff William's lieutenant, to begin my new duties immediately."

"Really! Won't your brothers appreciate that! And why didn't you let us know you were coming? You caught us unprepared to welcome you properly."

"My apologies, dear lady. If it's too much bother, then not to worry. Rodger and I can make ourselves quite comfortable in the barn. We've slept in far worse, haven't we, Rodger?"

"Oh, don't be ridiculous! It won't take a moment to make up your bed for you. Never mind your nonsense and come in here while I find Robin. Have you called at Gisborne Hall?"

"Not yet."

"I'll send a servant over to let them know you're here."

"What I'd really like first is a servant to draw me a bath, a hot bath, with, oh, something that smells nice in it. And find me some clean, soft clothes. No leather, no mail. And food. Anything will do as long as it's not mouldy or crawling with worms. Yes, that's what I want. In that order. For Rodger, too."

"You shall have it," laughed Marian. "You both look like you need some pampering."

She hugged Archer, sweat and dirt and all, and then turned to Rodger. Where was the boy she remembered from London? He was gone, and in his place was a man, a man so much like the youthful Guy she dimly remembered that she had to blink twice to realize it was his son and not him.

This was Guy as he might have been as a young knight—tall and dark and serious-eyed. What was he, nineteen? He looked so much older. There was a maturity in his expression that had not been there before. A faint scar traced across one cheek, and another nicked his chin.

His shy smile flashed up suddenly when he realized she was scrutinizing him. It was Guy's smile, and yet Meg's, too. It softened the stern lines of his face and warmed the ice-pale blue eyes. As Rodger hugged her, Marian remembered the last time Guy had embraced her, so many years ago now. He'd held her gently and kissed her, in gratitude and love, before saying goodbye and going to the waiting Meg.

Rodger's arms felt the same—just as strong, just as safe.

_This is where my daughter belongs,_ _in Rodger's loving arms as I once was in Guy's. He's a man now, and she's a woman, and what's to stop them? God willing, someday they will be together, as they were always meant to be._

But all she said to Rodger was, "My, look at you, Rodger, you're all grown up!"


	35. Chapter 35 New Impressions

**NEW IMPRESSIONS**

"Who's that I hear?" called Robin as he came through the front door of the manor. "Is that my little brother?"

He strode into the dining hall with Guy and Meg close on his heels.

"Robin, Guy!" answered Archer as he embraced both of his brothers at once. "Yes, we're back, reasonably safe and mostly sound. I brought the lad with me, all in one piece, as requested."

"Rodger, darling, we're so glad to see you!" cried Meg as she hugged her son. "Archer, thank you for bringing him home to us!"

"Told you I'd look after him. Did you ever doubt me? No, don't answer that, Meg, dear."

He drew back with a teasing grin on his face, and then laughed as he patted Robin's stomach.

"What's this, Robin? The beginnings of a paunch?"

"Give over, it's nothing of the sort!" Robin retorted.

"It sure is. And you've lost more hair, too."

He ruffled his brother's tousled hair, which, although still quite brown, had thinned over the years. He pulled a lock of it down over his forehead. "There, that covers the bald spot."

Guy snickered, but Archer turned on him next.

"And Guy, well, no fat belly at least, but you've gotten grey, haven't you?" He flipped Guy's salt-and-pepper mane with boyish audacity. "What does your lovely wife think of it? Does she tell you it makes you look distinguished, or just old?"

Guy turned to Robin with a roll of his eyes. "What should we do with him?"

"Manure pile, head-first."

"Right. I'll get his arms, you get his legs."

With a simultaneous yell they grabbed Archer before he could make his escape, and bolted out the front door with him.

"Don't hurt him!" Meg called after them, but she was drowned out by the men's thunderous shouts. "Oh, dear."

"Boys will be boys," remarked Marian, "no matter their age. As he's already dirty, Meg, it can't do much harm. And he does deserve it."

Meg looked up at Rodger. "Speaking of dirty! You, young man, are going home straight away and have a long, hot bath."

"Yes, Mother." Rodger turned to grin at Marian. "Now I know for sure I'm really home. Just so long as she doesn't send Anna to my room to scrub me down."

"Go along," laughed Marian. "And enjoy. We'll see you tonight."

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Eleanor came downstairs after Rodger and his mother left.

"Is someone here, Mama?" she asked. "I thought I heard voices."

"Rodger and Archer are home."

"They are? For how long?"

"I believe for good this time."

"Oh."

"They'll be back for supper."

"Oh. How nice."

Marian watched her daughter return to her room without another word. Had she and Rodger written to each other since that awful night she had run off with Robert? If so, Eleanor had not told her. Eleanor had never mentioned Robert's name again, but neither had she spoken of Rodger.

_They just need to see each other again to make a fresh start, _Marian told herself. _It will happen between them. It was meant to be._ _They just need time._

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Eleanor flipped impatiently through the gowns in her wardrobe. She pulled one out, looked it over, frowned, and thrust it back.

_So, Rodger's come home. So what? He has a perfect right to be here. It's nothing to me. I probably won't see much of him anyway. He'll be busy soon, overseeing his family's lands and his part of the village. He'll waste no time finding some sweet girl to adore and worship him, and they'll get married and live in Gisborne Hall. Right next door…._

Eleanor sighed. _It's nothing to me if he does. Nothing at all. I've had enough of fickle, wishy-washy men. I'll find something useful to do instead. Maybe Matilda would be willing to take me on as her apprentice. Well, I'll think about that tomorrow. What shall I wear to supper tonight? Not that it matters. It's only Rodger. He's nothing to me, nothing at all…._

Eleanor took nearly half an hour to decide on a gown—her prettiest one, as it turned out—and she pestered the maidservant Edith until that good woman was in a frenzy of fuss over the arranging of Eleanor's hair and the choosing of her ornaments.

"You look lovely, m'lady," said an out-of-breath and slightly pop-eyed Edith some time later, as she applied the finishing touches and surveyed her handiwork with satisfaction. "As pretty as a bride, I daresay."

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Eleanor joined her parents at the table. She saw them raise their brows at her choice of dress and elaborate hairstyle, but they soon resumed their conversation with each other. They were talking in murmured voices, so she could not hear what they were saying. She twisted her damp hands in her lap and waited for the front door to open. When it did, she jumped in her chair. And then, suddenly, Rodger was in the dining hall, gazing down at her.

Eleanor caught her breath and stared at him, at his six feet plus of black leather-clad masculine beauty. This was Rodger, her childhood friend turned annoyingly lovesick teenager? This tall and impossibly handsome man? It seemed an eternity ago that their drama, now so childishly melodramatic to her, had played out on the balcony of the king's palace. _Did I really slap his face?_

She rose to her feet. "H-h-hello, Rodger."

He smiled—that wonderful, slow-blossoming smile of his— and her treacherous heart turned her knees to water. He reached for her hand, and held it between both of his.

"Hello, Eleanor."

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"Do you know if Rodger is home to stay?" Eleanor asked her mother the next morning.

"I already told you yes."

"Oh. I thought he might have said differently since he got back."

"If you're so concerned, why don't you ask him yourself?"

"Really, Mama. He doesn't want to talk to me."

"He did last night at supper."

"Not very much."

"Perhaps, but he certainly stared at you. How could he not? You were very dressed up just for supper. What possessed you to wear your best gown and do your hair up like that?"

"Are you making fun of me?"

"Not at all. After all the years I couldn't get you to brush your hair? It was so tangled most of the time that you begged me to cut it off, remember? And you wanted to wear boy's clothes! Your father and I thought you looked beautiful last night."

"So? What's wrong with that? Can't I dress up once in a while just because I want to?"

Marian smiled and said no more. She knew perfectly well why her daughter had wanted to look her best. And there was no mistaking that Rodger had noticed. Oh, yes, he had. He'd scarcely taken his eyes off Eleanor the whole evening. Meg had looked at Marian and nodded her approval. Robin, catching the exchange of glances, had whispered in Marian's ear, '_What are you two up to now? You're scheming something,'_ but Marian had only shaken her head. That's when she had met Guy's eyes from across the room, and he had given her his amused and knowing smile. He knew what she and Meg were about, even if Robin didn't.

_Yes, Guy, this is about our children. I know you want this as much as I do. We couldn't make things work between us, as hard as we both tried. There was always too much standing in our way, too much hurt and betrayal and mistrust. And Robin, of course. My first love, and my last. He separated us just as completely as Sheriff Vaisey once did. But now our children have this chance to make things right again, to have what we never could…._

For the rest, she and Meg would trust to time and togetherness to finally join Rodger and Eleanor in love.

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Rodger and Archer gradually settled back into life in Nottinghamshire, after they had been thoroughly spoiled by their families with plenty of good food, drink, warm fires, and restful nights in soft beds.

Archer took up his new position at Sir William of Gloucester's' side. If any of the townspeople had feelings of uneasiness about Guy of Gisborne's rather dashing younger brother becoming the Sheriff's right-hand man, they were soon reassured. Archer was also the brother of Robin Hood, after all, and every bit as charming as that former outlaw and well-loved champion of the poor and oppressed.

Rodger spent his time getting reacquainted with his younger siblings. Richard was sixteen, as tall and wiry as ever, and still the apple of his grandfather's eye. Ghislaine was no longer a little girl, but was rapidly growing into a young lady.

"You'll be chasing off her suitors with a stick before too long," Rodger said to his parents.

"It'll be a good long while yet before your sister is wed, don't worry," answered Meg. "For one thing, she's got a mind of her own, and for another, her suitors will have to get past your father first. That should deter the fainthearted."

Rodger took one look at his father's grim expression, and had no more fears for his sister. Only a young man with a deep love for Ghislaine, and an extraordinarily stout heart, would ever dare ask Sir Guy for his daughter's hand.

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"There, that's the last of your clothes, at least the ones that could be salvaged," Meg said to Rodger one afternoon as she put the clean garments away. "We'll see what we can do as far as getting you some new ones."

"Thank you, Mother," Rodger replied.

"Don't thank me," she answered. "Thank the servants. They're the ones who did all the washing and mending for you."

"I will." He sat down on his bed. "Is it true what Richard told me, that Grandfather is turning his business over to him when he reaches twenty?"

"Yes. Is that okay with you?"

"Of course! I'm happy for him. Richard's always loved working in the shop with Grandfather. He'll be right in his element."

"I'm sure he will. He's never been the adventurous type like you."

"He's better off for it. I've had enough adventure to last me a lifetime."

"Good. You've done your duty to king and country. Now we need you here, Rodger. Your father needs you."

'_Your father needs you'_. Rodger thought back to his first glimpse of his father upon his return. Guy's hair, once so black, was now heavily streaked with silver. His broad shoulders were not as straight as they had once been, and his eyes were clouded with a lifetime's burden of sorrow and pain and regret.

_I once thought he would never change. He always seemed so strong to me, so unbreakable, so invincible. But he's not, and only now am I realizing it. Father is nearing sixty years of age. He's getting old. And Mother— _

The sunlight streaming through the bedroom window glinted on the soft white strands amongst her golden brown curls. He had not noticed them before, or the faint, tired lines etched on her pale face. The sight made his heart ache.

_Mother is right. This is where my duty lies now. I need to be here. My family needs me to look after them. _

Rodger stood. He towered over Meg, but she reached up to touch his cheek with as much motherly solicitude as if he were still a little boy.

"Rodger, what happened to your face?"

"It's nothing, Mother. Just a scratch."

"Just a scratch? Look at this, and here, on your chin."

"Father has a scar on his face, too. He said Uncle Robin gave it to him, with a knife, back when they used to hate each other."

"Well, that's ancient history now," Meg answered. "This is a lot more recent."

"I'm fine. It's all healed over."

He only hoped she would not ask him to take off his tunic, too, to inspect the rest of his skin. Not for anything would he willingly let her see _that_ scar. He'd seen the scars on Father's chest and back, and knew how he got them, but his own were ones he preferred to keep secret for now. The deepest part of the sword wound still smarted when he stretched his muscles too far, but thanks to Archer's quick actions and diligent nursing, he'd been spared worse.

True, only two weeks after that fierce battle on England's border, he'd had to be hustled out by a servant in the middle of his friend Geoffrey's wedding because the wound had broken open and begun to bleed through the bandage and his shirt, but he'd made it back in time to enjoy the wedding feast afterward.

"Rodger, you didn't—"

His mind was pulled back to the present by his mother's long, searching look.

"Didn't what?"

Meg stopped herself, and shook her head. "Never mind. Come down to supper when you're ready."

'_Don't ask him, Meg,' _Guy had told her. '_Don't make him tell you. If he did, trust me, he doesn't want you to know. He wants to forget. He's home now. Let him forget. Let him put it behind him.'_

And so it was that Meg never did ask her son if, in the months of war in the king's service, he had killed anyone.

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"Eleanor's gone to see a friend?" Rodger asked his mother the next day.

"A female friend."

"I thought she didn't like the company of other girls."

Meg laughed. "She doesn't, but even Eleanor has to be sociable sometimes."

"Who's her friend?"

"Someone she met at last year's harvest festival. She's been very lonely since you and Archer left."

Rodger grimaced. "I can't imagine why our absence would matter to her."

"Because you've always been her best friend, Rodger, ever since you were little children."

"We're not friends now. We can't be. I wanted—well, it doesn't matter. Forget it."

"You wanted to be more than friends."

"I did, Mother. But she didn't, and that's all there is to it. We can't go back and be friends again."

"I agree. You can't, not in the same way."

Rodger was silent.

"But all that's in the past now," Meg added gently. "You were so young. You've grown up, both of you. Are you so sure she still feels the same way?"

"Mother, what are you trying to say?"

"Robert hurt her terribly, Rodger. She was so ashamed of the whole affair. It was a hard lesson for her, but she has learned from it. I think she's the wiser for it, too. Perhaps now she can appreciate the merits of a truly kind, caring, and loyal man."

"Oh, and who would that be? Has she got another suitor already?"

"I'm talking about you, my dear son."

"Me?"

"Yes, you."

"She doesn't like me, Mother, not that way. Sometimes I think she doesn't like me in any way."

"You're so wrong, darling. She does, far more than she knows. I'll give you my motherly advice, for what it's worth. Forget the past. Swallow your wounded pride, and try again with Eleanor."

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**Author's Note:** So, did Rodger kill anyone? I'll leave that up to you, readers, to decide. It depends on how realistic you want the story to be. Real medieval warfare, or would you rather have Rodger keep a certain amount of innocence? Your call! More to come as soon as I can write it.


	36. Chapter 36 The Course of True Love

**THE COURSE OF TRUE LOVE**

When does true love begin? How do two people come to a mutual realization that friendship is not enough to satisfy them any longer? What moves them chose to travel together on the same journey through this world, and what causes their two hearts to inseparably become one, so that each cannot imagine life without the other?

It has often been said that the course of true love never runs smooth. Whether or not this is generally true, it certainly had proven true for Robin and Marian.

Robin of Locksley had loved Marian of Knighton from the day she had accepted his bouquet of wildflowers, hastily plucked and bundled together, and gone somewhat limp, from hands that were sweaty with fear that she would reject his gift, and himself.

Lady Marian, all of eleven years old, hadn't rejected the gift, or him. Instead, she'd stood on the toes of her dainty slippers and kissed his dirt-streaked cheek. As he smiled down at her sweet face, his heart had thudded against his ribs in the ecstatic throes of a boy's first infatuation. From that moment on, they had been together nearly every day.

Years later she had accepted his proposal, and they had spent many a happy hour planning their wedding and their life together. Then, one fateful day, the call had come. Robin, in a fit of patriotic fervor, left Locksley Manor, and his beloved Marian, to follow Richard the Lionheart to the Holy Land. '_To serve king and country'_, he said. '_To seek glory'_, she said.

Almost, Marian's youthful love for Robin had died when he abandoned her. She had nursed her resentment against him until she was certain she no longer loved him. And then she had been introduced to Guy of Gisborne. Handsome Guy, whose dark, brooding looks and fiery temper swept her up, heedless of danger, into a headlong passion.

Years passed and Robin did not return, and so Guy had almost taken Robin's place in Marian's heart. But like flame set ablaze in a pile of straw, so had her love for Guy quickly burned itself out when she saw what he was becoming under Sheriff Vaisey's evil tutelage. She had finally rejected him in fear of her life, and almost lost her life in Acre to the man Guy blindly followed and served.

Love had not come easily to Guy, either. He had loved Marian from the moment he saw her at a banquet of the nobles in Nottingham. One look, one glimpse, had been enough. His whole soul was instantly consumed by her; his every waking thought was of how he could win her.

When she left him at the altar, his humiliation had been such that for a time he hated her. But his desire for her grew into an obsession, so that in time his pursuit of her became more determined than ever. Encouraged by the softening he'd seen in her toward him, he had pressed his suit ever more boldly, until that terrible day in Acre when his cherished dreams of Marian had blown to bits before his face and fallen into cold and bitter dust.

For more than a year he had believed she was dead, killed by the Sheriff, only to learn that she had survived her wound, and had married Robin.

Marian had been taken from him forever. But Meg had been there to fill her place. With her innocent love and her firm belief in the goodness she saw in him—when he could discern nothing but bad—she had brought him comfort, and at last he had let himself love her in return. His broken heart had been made whole again with Meg's unswerving devotion. He would always love Marian, but he had seen that it was possible, when one's first and deepest love was irrevocably lost, to learn to love another and be happy.

Love had perhaps come easiest for Meg, for her one and only love had been Guy. Her chosen path as his wife had not been an easy or a smooth road, but she had no regrets. Guy was the center of her world. She lived for him and for their children.

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Rodger and Eleanor, it seemed, had followed in their parent's footsteps when it came to true love. For them, love, or something like it, had begun nearly twenty years in the past, and its opening scene went something like this:

"_Come here, Eleanor, come see the baby!"_

"_Come on, sweetie, come see baby Rodger!"_

The little toddler girl hesitated. She wasn't sure she liked the look of immensely tall, black-clad Uncle Guy, who stood behind the chair whereupon sat pretty Aunt Meg with a baby in her lap. Next to the pretty lady stood her mama and papa, coaxing her to them with their voices and smiles. But there was that scary man! Dare she walk any closer to him?

"_It's okay, Eleanor! Come here!"_

She stuck out her lip, frowned, and shook her head at them.

Her papa took hold of her arm, and gently led her to the pretty lady.

"_Don't be so silly. Look, see the baby!"_

The little girl stared down at the baby. He was wrapped snugly in a snow-white blanket. He had curly black hair and a wee white face, and his eyes were closed. The grown-ups were all watching her with smiles on their faces. What did they want her to do?

"_Say hello to baby Rodger!" _

Not knowing what else to do, she reached out and gave the blanket a sharp tug. The baby opened his eyes, and his white face scrunched into an ugly red grimace as he let out a piercing wail.

"_Oh, dear,"_ said the pretty lady, as the baby continued to scream, but little Eleanor knew how to shut him up. She lifted her hand to slap him!

"_No, no, Eleanor, no! We don't hit baby!"_ cried Mama. She and Papa pulled her hands away.

The tall, dark man chuckled. "_Like mother, like daughter," _he said.

"_Guy, behave yourself!"_ said the pretty lady, and the tall man snickered again. Eleanor frowned up at him, and then at the shrieking infant. He was such an ugly thing! What was wrong with slapping him to make him stop?

"_Eleanor, like this, see? Be gentle with baby, okay? Give Rodger a kiss, like this."_ Papa bent over the baby and kissed his head.

Eleanor sighed, and toddled forward once again. The baby had stopped crying, and was now whimpering instead. She thought back to the puppy in the barn that had been kicked by Papa's horse. The baby was making the same plaintive sounds that the poor puppy had made while Uncle Allan bandaged its injured leg.

"_Give baby Rodger a kiss, Eleanor,"_ said Papa. "_Tell him you're sorry." _

Eleanor looked down at the flushed face of the infant, and suddenly the ice blue eyes opened wide and gazed right into hers. She smiled at him, and, out of curiosity, took hold of one of his flailing hands. The tiny, softly dimpled fingers wrapped around hers with surprising strength, and held on tight. The infant didn't look so ugly anymore. She bent over him as Papa had done, only instead of pressing her lips on his forehead, she kissed Rodger right on his milky mouth.

She could not for the life of her understand why all the grown-ups started to laugh. Nor could she fathom the prophetic words of the tall, scary man, "_Would you look at that, Robin and Marian? It would seem that our children are now betrothed."_

The baby grew quiet after the kiss. He stared up at Eleanor with big, fascinated eyes. The sight made her giggle with warm delight.

"_Rodger!"_ she thought. "_You like me!"_

"Wah-da!" she said to him, and she kissed him again.

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Eleanor of Locksley had grown up to be a fair amount of Robin and a good deal of Marian—the best and worst of both her parents—and a sprinkling of her own unique self, too. Rodger of Gisborne had grown up to be, most of the time at least, the best of Guy and Meg. He faced his future as the heir of Gisborne with a modest confidence that he was prepared for the responsibilities that lay ahead. There was only one thing he lacked—a lady at his side to be his helpmate, his confidante, his friend and lover.

Rodger was very much in love with his chosen lady, but would Eleanor have him? She had taken some hard blows, and had learned some painful life lessons, but now that her bruised heart had healed, no obstacles stood between her and Rodger anymore. The rocky path of true love had smoothed out before them. They had only to choose to take that road together, and from the day of Rodger's return and their reunion in Locksley, they did.

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As was to be expected, the mothers caught on to what was happening between their offspring faster than the fathers.

"_Grow up, Robin! Leave them alone. Stop teasing them, I mean it! You're going to spoil things if you don't stop."_

"_No, Guy, Rodger does not need to go with you to Nottingham_ _today. Take Allan. Rodger wants to spend the day with Eleanor." _

With time and a few subtle, and not-so-subtle, hints from their wives, the fathers at last caught on as well. Rodger and Eleanor were left in peace. Even the servants tiptoed around them so as not to disturb their growing intimacy.

The stone walls of Locksley Manor and Gisborne Hall rang with laughter as Rodger and Eleanor reminisced about their shared childhoods. They retold old jokes and relived pranks and games they had played with the village children and with each other. They teased one another over their endless archery rivalry, their regrettable "crushes", and the many fights that were memorable but the causes of which were long forgotten.

Then their voices became quiet and serious. The laughter ceased as they delved into deep and painful feelings of jealousy, hurt, and anger. The weeks of winter passed and spring returned to the English countryside while they opened their hearts to each other. And they found at last that they could forgive one another for the past, put it behind them, and look ahead to the future.

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One pleasant morning early in May, Rodger went to the manor straight after breakfast to see if Eleanor wanted to take a walk with him. There was a particular corner of a meadow at the edge of Sherwood Forest that he had discovered on a ride the day before, and he wanted to take her there to see it.

It was an enchanted place—a little, sun-dappled hollow where a brook splashed over a pebbled bed and spilled down a cascade of moss-blanketed stones into a deep pool. All around the pool, flowers grew thickly, filling the air with their scent. He had pulled out and arranged several of the smoothest stones to make seats near the pool, one for himself and one for Eleanor.

Today was the day, and this place was the spot, for him to ask the most important question he had ever asked in his life, and he wanted everything to be perfect. Eleanor deserved it. He loved her, had always loved her. And he was sure, quite sure at least, that she loved him, too, and would give him the answer he longed to hear.

He found Eleanor alone, as her mother had gone out to see a neighbour, and the servants were working in another part of the house. She was seated at a window, with the shimmering folds of a new gown in her lap. Her face wore a frown of concentration as she worked the needle in and out. Rodger smiled at she looked up.

"Rodger, I didn't hear you come in!" she exclaimed. "You made me jump! I nearly stuck myself with this silly needle."

"Sorry. I don't mean to interrupt."

Eleanor laughed. "As if I mind. You know how much I hate sewing. My mother used to punish me by making me work on embroidery for hours at a time."

"Never learned your lesson though, did you?"

She hesitated, and then laughed again. "No, I guess I never did, did I?" She smiled up at him. "Remember the time I taunted you and called you a baby? And you climbed up on the fireplace mantle and tried to take down your father's sword, and knocked your mother's vases on the floor instead?"

"I've yet to forgive you for that one," he replied. "I got the worst beating for it, and Father sent me away to the orphanage for a week to teach me a lesson."

"Well, perhaps you'll forgive me some day. Does it help to know that my mother sent me to my room for the rest of that day, with a whole pillow to embroider? It came out terrible, too. I was so miserable. I still have that wretched pillow to remind me."

"I'll consider forgiving you if you come with me for a walk."

"Right now? Um, can it wait just a little bit? I want to finish this gown for the feast at the castle tonight. It's almost done, honest. I just need to finish the hem."

"Of course. It's very pretty, your gown."

"Thank you."

"I can't wait to see you in it."

"You're a flatterer."

Rodger smiled. "So, who's taking you to the feast?"

"I'm going with my parents, I guess, unless someone else asks me to go with him."

"So you'd agree to let an unattached man escort you to the feast?"

"Perhaps, if the right unattached man asked me," she answered, while she kept her eye on her sewing.

"The right man?" Rodger swallowed hard, and paced slowly around the room before coming back to stand near the window.

After a long pause, during which he alternately gazed down on Eleanor, and stared out the window, and Eleanor sewed industriously on her gown, he said in a low voice, "What if I were to ask you?"

Eleanor looked up, needle poised, her brows arched.

"Are you asking me," she said, "or is this a rhetorical question?"

"I'm asking you, Eleanor. Will you do me the honour of accompanying me to the feast at the castle tonight?"

She twisted her face in a wry smile. "Really, Rodger, you do take a long time getting to the point. And the answer is yes, I would be pleased to accompany you."

He gave her a smirk in return. "I take a long time, do I?"

"Yes, you do. What's the matter with you, anyway? Why are you so nervous? It's only me."

"I don't want to get my face slapped again, if you don't mind."

"Oh, Rodger, you know how sorry I am for that—" She saw his grin. "Now you're teasing me!"

"Of course I am. You don't get to do all the teasing around here. Sometimes it's my turn." He smiled. "So, do you mind riding with me into Nottingham on Starlight?"

"No, that would be lovely." She stood and shook out the gown. "There, it's done. Now we can take that walk, if you'd like."

"There's a spot near the woods I found yesterday that I want to show you," he said. Then, gently taking her hands in his, and looking deep into her eyes, he added, "And, Eleanor, there's something I want to ask you when we get there."

Rodger had planned for their first real kiss—one that was mutual and didn't end in any face-slapping—to take place by the flower-encircled brook after their betrothal. But as he looked into Eleanor's beautiful sea-green eyes, and then dropped his gaze to her waiting lips, his patience and resolve crumbled. What might have happened next they never found out, however, for just at that moment, Allan burst through the front door of the manor, red-faced and out of breath, and confronted them both.

"Rodger, Eleanor, where are your parents?"

"Papa's with Hugh, and Mama's visiting Bess," stammered Eleanor, her face as crimson as Allan's. "It's okay, we're not alone. The servants are here—"

"Rodger, where's your father?"

"He's with Reggie, I think. Why, what's wrong, Allan?"

"Get them, now! Tell them to meet me here, as quick as they can. And help me round up as many men from Locksley as we can get."

"What's happened?"

"A fire! There's a fire in Nottingham!"

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**Author's Note: **Arrghh! Sorry again for the long delay! Blame it on real life getting in the way, combined with a lengthy bout of "writer's block". Anyway, there are just two chapters left to go in this tale. Thank you to my faithful readers who've stayed with this story for so long! More to come ASAP.


	37. Chapter 37 A Family of Heroes

**A FAMILY OF HEROES**

_Such a lot of fuss over nothing,_ sulked Eleanor, as she stood in the doorway of Locksley Manor and watched the men of the village, under the direction of her father and Uncle Guy, scramble to gather buckets and shovels.

_Some dim-witted old dame set her apron on fire while taking bread out of her oven, and now the whole of Nottinghamshire is in an uproar over it. _

And what a time for Allan to come in on her and Rodger! He'd caught them alone—Mama would be sure to hear of that, and think the worst—and just as Rodger was about to kiss her, too!

_I'd like to wring Allan's neck. Rodger was going to ask me to marry him, and Allan had to spoil everything by barging in here blathering about a fire. Surely the town has men enough, and plenty to spare, to put it out. And why did Rodger have to rush off to join them, anyway? I need him here! Aren't I more important to him than some trifling fire? Papa did the same to Mama once. Left her to follow King Richard on some idealistic crusade. 'That's men for you,' I've heard her say to Aunt Meg. 'Always glory-seeking.'_

Eleanor shut the door and sprawled grumpily in a chair. She had little time to pout over Rodger's abandonment, however, for the very next minute she was rousted from her mood, and the chair, by her mother, who burst through the door with nearly as much noise as Allan.

"Eleanor, what are you doing? Get up and help us!"

"Help with what?"

"We've got to take these supplies to Nottingham! There might be injured people."

"From one little fire? I should think the owners would have plenty of time to get of their house, Mama. It's the middle of the morning, not the middle of the night."

"It's more than one house, Eleanor. Several houses, maybe more. And the fire is spreading. Come on, girl, hurry up!"

Eleanor sighed, and extricated herself drearily, and rather slowly, from the chair. _This is so pointless. By the time we get to Nottingham, the fire will be out and the clean-up begun. _

A short time later, the residents of Locksley, lords and peasants alike, rode at a swift canter out of the village. Eleanor carried two heavy bags of supplies on the front of her saddle, placed there by her mother. The sacks bounced painfully against her legs, which irritated her even more. But her complaining stopped when they came out of the forest, and saw the cloud of dark smoke and the orange glow of flames rising over the town. They spurred their horses into a gallop across the fields, over the bridge, and through the main gate into Nottingham.

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The men of Locksley quickly went to work alongside the men of Nottingham to put out a fire in one of the shops on the main street. It was no sooner out than they started on the house next to it, flinging water and shovelfuls of sand onto the flames to stop the spread of the fire to the nearby houses.

Marian and Meg helped to get people in the path of danger out of their homes. Marian was a bit more forceful than Meg, at least at first. Meg, however, finally lost her patience with the wailing townswomen, who kept dashing back into their houses to gather up belongings. With many years of practice making Guy behave himself, she, under her gentle demeanor, possessed a firmness of character and stoutness of arm which, when called upon, was nearly equal to Marian's. She took hold of the women and unceremoniously dragged them out of the way of their husbands and sons.

Eleanor had no use for shrieking women and bawling children. She joined her father and the other men in the long line from the neighbourhood well to the fire. They handed off one bucket after another. Her arms and her hands and her back began to ache fiercely, and her dress was splashed from bodice to hem, but she gritted her teeth and kept on, determined not to risk a retort from one of the men for slowing up the line.

Rodger's jaw was set, too, but for a different reason. Rowan's house and shop were only a stone's throw away from them. Indeed, he could see Rowan among a group of men, also tossing buckets of water at a burning house as they were doing. Rodger turned back to the task at hand with a shake of his head. _Let Rowan and his miserable family fight their own fire. It's not my concern._

After getting the last of the children out of the men's way, Meg went to Guy and tugged on his arm.

"My father!" she cried over the din of shouts and screams. "Is the fire near his house? Guy, has it spread that far?"

"I don't know," Guy replied. "Archer will know, but until he gets here—careful, Meg, stay back! Don't get too close." He took another bucket of water from Willie, the Locksley blacksmith, and threw it onto the flames. He did not see Meg as, a moment later, she turned and ran down the street in the direction of her father's house.

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Finally, the fire in the shop and the two attached houses was out. Robin and Guy and the other men dropped their buckets and shovels and stopped to catch their breaths. They had little time to rest, for soon shouts for help could be heard from both ends of the street.

"Guy, Allan, Rodger—come with me," said Robin. "The rest of you, go to the castle and find out where they need more men. Marian, find out if there are any injured people, and where they are being taken. Bring Eleanor with you."

"But Papa, I want—"

"No. Go with your mother."

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The four men hurried down the street toward the crowd gathered around yet another burning building.

"It's Rowan's house," muttered Guy grimly. He stopped. His soot-smeared face wore the same glower as Rodger's.

"Yes, it's Rowan's house, and Peter's," said Robin, "and we've got to help, regardless of how we feel about them. That's why we came, Guy, to help whoever needs us."

Guy scowled at Robin's speech, and might have turned back along with his son, but at that moment Rowan saw them. The distraught father rushed toward them and pointed at his house.

"My son! He's in there!"

"Can't he get out?" Robin asked him.

"He went in to get his sister," gasped Rowan. "We couldn't find her. She was with a neighbour. By the time we found her and came back here—what are we going to do? He'll die, Robin!"

Upon hearing her husband's words, Rowan's wife, clutching two of their children, slumped down on the street and sobbed inconsolably.

"Rowan, it's okay," said Robin. "Calm down, we'll get him out. Stay with your wife, I'll—"

A sheet of flame shot out from a bottom floor window. The townsmen threw water onto it, with little effect.

"There's no time to douse the fire," Robin decided. "We'll have to try something else."

"You got a plan, mate?" asked Allan. "'Cause I sure don't."

"I'll come up with something. Just give me a minute to think."

Guy knew there was no time to spare for thought, even if he had been one for making a plan. The roar of the fire was not enough to drown out the words inside his head that he would hear until his dying day—the heart-rending cries that had come from eleven-year-old Robin one terrible, tragic day in Locksley.

'_Guy, my father's inside! Yours, too, and your mother! You've got to do something!'_

He hadn't acted. Paralyzed by fear of the intense heat and the black, billowing smoke, he'd stood and watched helplessly as his family's manor burned to the ground, with his parents inside. He had learned many years later, through Robin, that it would have been too late to save his parents even if he had attempted a heroic dash into the inferno, for his mother was already dead and his father would not leave her side. The guilt had never left him just the same. He had lived with it every day of his life since then.

_I should have saved them. I should have braved the flames…. _

But this house was Rowan's, and the one inside was Peter, the boy who'd called him a murderer, and cruelly beaten his son. _Why should I help them?_ _I owe them nothing._

"My son!" Rowan cried. "He wanted to save his sister, Robin, that's why he went in! And now we can't save him. Oh, God, it's too late!"

_His sister….my sister Isabella….dead because of me….I should have saved her, too…._

Guy looked over at Robin, and suddenly moved toward the little group of spectators, grabbed a woolen blanket from one of the women, and dropped it on the ground.

"Throw some water on this. Now!" Guy barked at the nearest man holding a bucket. When the man hesitated, Guy snatched the bucket from him and threw the water onto the blanket. He doused the blanket with two more full buckets, before pulling the heavy, sodden wool around his body and over his head, leaving only his face exposed.

Allan turned and saw him, and his brows went up. "Oi! Robin! You might wanna take a look at Giz. Something tells me he's about to do something really brave and really stupid."

Robin turned, saw Guy encased in the dripping blanket, and started to yell at him.

"Guy, are you crazy? You can't!" he cried, as flames began to lick the upper windows and the roof. "Rowan's right, it's too late!"

Robin reached out to stop him, as he had long ago when Guy had ordered him to lead the men of Nottingham to safety while he held the gates against Prince John's army, but Guy shook him off as he had then. Pushing Robin out of the way, he took a few deep breaths, and then plunged through the doorway and into the burning house.

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The smoke was so thick, so blinding, that for a moment Guy could see nothing. Blinking rapidly to clear the acrid smoke from his eyes, he dimly saw a line of shelves along the walls, stacked with crockery. He was in the kitchen. Several timbers cracked and crashed to the floor in the rooms beyond. Guy pushed on through the darkness with the blanket pulled like a shroud over his mouth and nose.

In the hot, red-tinged gloom of a back hallway, he saw the figure of a boy lying face-down on the floor. He rushed forward, knelt down, and shook the boy's shoulder. Peter turned, and stared up at Sir Guy of Gisborne in utter disbelief.

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"He's a dead man," said Allan. "And crazy. And brave, along with crazy."

"That's Guy for you!" said Robin angrily. "Always thinking with his heart instead of his head!"

"What heart?" replied Allan. "Not bein' funny, but he doesn't have a heart for that snotty little Peter brat, does he? Robin? Robin, where are you going?"

"What do you think, Allan? I'm going in after him! Here, soak this blanket down for me. Maybe Guy's trick will work."

"You're crazy, too. Marian would stop you if she was here."

_No, she'd go right in there after Guy,_ thought Robin, but he wasn't about to say so to Allan.

"Shut up, Allan. Just get some water, will you?"

But the next moment Robin felt the blanket lifted from his shoulders. He turned around, to see Rodger's fearless blue eyes looking into his.

"I've got this one, Uncle Robin."

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Guy gazed into Peter's frightened face, and down at his legs, pinned under a heavy beam, and he no longer saw the sneering, scornful, delinquent son of the man whose father he had killed. He saw only a boy who had rushed into a burning house to save his young sister, and who was now hopelessly trapped, with the deadly fire closing in.

"Help me, please!" Peter choked out. "My sister, she's in here! I need to find her!"

"She's safe," Guy told him. "She's outside, with your parents. Hold on, I'll get this off you."

Guy tugged on the rafter, with much gasping and coughing, for his lungs were starved for air. At last he was able to move the heavy length of wood off Peter's legs.

"I don't think I can walk, Sir Guy," Peter said through clenched teeth. The _Sir _was spoken humbly and without hesitation.

"No, you can't," Guy acknowledged. "Your legs are broken. Here, I'll lift you. Put your arms around my neck."

Guy struggled to his feet, with Peter, groaning in agony, in his arms. With one hand Guy held the boy against his chest, and with the other he pulled the water-soaked blanket around them. He stepped over the smouldering beam and moved through the house toward the direction of the front door.

It was almost impossible to see through the suffocating smoke. Another rafter crashed down in front of them, so close that Guy barely managed to dodge out of its way before it broke into blackened splinters at his feet. They reached the kitchen, only to find that it was now completely engulfed in flames. Guy swallowed hard. He looked all around them, but there was no other door. The front entrance was the only way out of the house.

"What are we going to do? We're trapped!" exclaimed Peter.

"No, you're not," said a voice out of the darkness, and a strong hand reached through the smoke to take Guy's arm.

"Rodger!"

"This way, Father. Follow me!"

A moment later, father and son charged together through the burning kitchen and out the flame-wreathed doorway, carrying the boy who hated them both to life and safety and his parent's waiting arms.

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Robin sent Allan a Dale to find a physician for Peter. After entrusting Rowan and his family to the care of their neighbours, he went to Guy and Rodger and pulled them into an embrace, even as the roof and the outer walls of Rowan's house collapsed into fiery ruin behind them.

"You two bloody fools!" he berated them through tearful laughter. "You've robbed me of ten years of my life, I swear! I was about to come in there after you!"

"Sure you were," snickered Guy. "Anyway, we got him out, thanks to my son here. He saved both of us." Guy smiled at Rodger with justifiable pride.

"Looks like heroism runs in the family, my friend," was Robin's reply. And it was not merely the courage to face a blazing fire that Robin was speaking of.

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Allan returned a short while later, in company with the Sheriff's personal physician, to take Peter back to the castle to be cared for. Rowan thanked Robin, Allan, Marian, and all the rest who had tried to save his house. The house was gone, but thanks to their efforts, his carpentry shop had been spared. More importantly, his family was safe, and for this he was grateful.

As Guy lifted Peter onto the cart, Rowan swallowed his pride and approached Guy.

"Sir Guy, you saved my boy's life. I-I owe you my thanks—"

But Guy would not let him finish.

"Many years ago I killed your father, and it was an injustice I will always regret. What I did today is only what I should have done."

Guy turned on his heel to walk away, but before he did, he turned and, in a gruff voice, added, "You owe me nothing."

It was the closest Guy would ever come to telling Rowan that he was sorry. But for Rowan, it was enough.

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Meg returned with good news—her father's house was untouched by the fires. Her pent-up dread was in desperate need of an outlet, however, and she vented it on her husband after finding out what he had done.

"Guy, how could you! You might have been killed! And our son!"

She burst into tears in Guy's arms. As she had hoped, however, she found such ready solace in his embrace that even his gentle chiding was comforting.

"Now, Meg, don't carry on so," he told her between coughs and kisses. "Stop making a fuss, woman. I'm okay, and so is Rodger. There now, everything's all right."

It would take days for father and son to get the smoke out of their lungs, but with loved ones near, all sense of danger soon fled away, and only relief and joy remained. Archer, who had been at the castle with the Sheriff, found them in this jubilant state, and assured them that all the fires were out. Several homes and shops had been damaged or destroyed, but no lives had been lost.

Marian and Eleanor returned to find the menfolk reeking of smoke and bleary-eyed from exhaustion, but also happy and proud. Robin told his wife and daughter of Guy and Rodger's heroism. His tale had its desired effect upon his daughter.

Rodger's disappointment that his carefully planned, romantic proposal to Eleanor had been interrupted by the day's events was all but forgotten when she turned from her father to him. Eyes aglow, she ran to his waiting arms.

"Oh, Rodger! Rodger, I love you! I do, I love you!"

Rodger smiled through his grime-blackened face, swept Eleanor into his arms, and swung her around and around until they were both dizzy. It did not matter to him that Eleanor's dress was soaked with dirty water, and she didn't care one bit that Rodger's clothes and face and hair were black with damp soot. He kissed her, and she kissed him, and they kissed each other. When they parted, Eleanor's mouth was ringed with grey ash, to match the big patch of dirt on her cheek. But all they saw were each other's shining eyes. The long years of wondering and waiting, hoping and hesitating, were at an end.

"Marry me!"

"Yes!"

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**Author's Note:** Yay for "Gizzy the Fireman"! Okay, so maybe I really, really like Guy's better side. What's wrong with that? ;) I like to think that he (and Rodger) are both man enough to overcome their own antipathy toward Rowan and Peter in order to save a life. Let me know what you think of my side story wrap-up :)

Thank you for your reviews! Again, thank you to the anonymous reviewers as well. Especially MargaretThornton, for your encouraging comments on this story and on "A Friend Closer Than a Brother", since I wasn't able to send you a PM.

Next, the final chapter! Whew! Can't wait to be done. I'll have it up as soon as possible.


	38. Chapter 38 All's Well That Ends Well

**ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL**

Rodger of Gisborne and Eleanor of Locksley became formally betrothed that evening, after both sets of parents unhesitatingly approved the match. The happiness of the two families was unbounded. The fire in Nottingham was out, with no loss of life, and now they had this new joy to celebrate. Sheriff William's feast at Nottingham Castle had been postponed until the following week due to the fire—its cause forever remained a mystery—so they had their own family party instead, in the comfort of Locksley Manor. Their joy extended to the servants of the two families as well.

"What a lovely bride you'll make, milady!" exclaimed Edith. "I do hope you'll allow me to arrange your hair." She would have dragged Eleanor, with her freshly washed abundance of hair, up over the stairs to her dressing table to try out hairstyles that very minute, if Marian hadn't put the brakes on her enthusiasm by reminding her that the actual wedding was still some time away.

Anna was quite overcome with emotion, and began to cry. "I remember the day you were born, Rodger!" she sobbed. "What a beautiful baby you were. All big blue eyes and black curls. Look at you now! So tall and handsome! And old enough to be married! And you're to marry dear Lady Eleanor! And—"

Her husband Reggie intervened before Anna could embarrass Rodger any further. He shook Rodger's hand with simple and heartfelt respect.

"Bless you, sir," he said. "We're so happy for you both."

The two families ate their evening meal together. After supper, the two men sat down near the fireplace. Robin, being the tease that he was, could not resist a jab at Guy.

"Well, Guy, it looks like I'll be in your life forever after this," he observed, with a perfectly straight face.

"Just my luck," Guy responded with his best smirk. "You've been in my life forever already, Locksley, at least it feels like you have."

"Come on, it hasn't been so very bad, has it?"

"You've kept me amused, I'll give you that much."

Robin laughed, and clapped Guy on the shoulder. "What do you suppose our old nemesis would say if he could see us now? We made our peace with each other, and we've been friends all these years, and now our children are going to marry and carry on our names after us. Speaking for myself, I can't think of a better revenge against Vaisey, can you?"

Guy's sarcastic expression faded, and a genuine smile took its place.

"No, I can't," he replied. "Sometimes I wish he was here just long enough to rub his face in it."

Robin bent down to stir up the fire and add more wood. Guy turned, and caught a glimpse of Marian watching them from her chair next to Meg. She had an enigmatic little smile on her lips, and he wondered what she was thinking.

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Rodger would not marry his chosen lady before he could claim the title "Sir Rodger", and that would not happen until he was made a fully-fledged knight of the realm. So, two weeks after his proposal was accepted, he packed his bags once again and rode off for London, this time alone, to finish the training he had begun some years earlier.

The parting was not without drama on Eleanor's side, for, like her mother before her, she was angry at being "abandoned" by her husband-to-be. All of Rodger's reasoning, and her parent's, could not persuade her that he was acting in their best interests. Rodger finally gave up arguing with her on the matter. He promised her that he would write as soon as he got there and would be home for a visit before long. He then kissed her goodbye as best he could through her protests.

Robin and Marian were not sorry to see him go. They knew the potential difficulties of a long betrothal when the young couple was living in such close proximity, and they also saw that their daughter had some growing up to do yet.

"Even when they get married, they'll be fighting half the time, if what we've seen so far is any indication," said Marian pessimistically, one chilly and rainy evening that fall.

"Undoubtedly," agreed Robin, "but they'll be happier fighting with each other than getting along with someone else."

"Like us?" Marian asked. At Robin's grimace, she added, "At least he's not leaving her for five years, like a certain other enamored suitor I could mention, who left his beloved to be courted by another."

Robin, not to be outdone, answered, "Well, I've no doubt Guy kept you quite satisfied while I was away."

"Perhaps he did," said Marian. "Come to think of it, he wasn't such a bad suitor. For one thing, he was handsomer than you."

"Now, Marian!" cried Robin, and she smiled at having gotten the better of him.

Eleanor at last quieted down, and even felt a bit ashamed of her quarrelsome send-off. The next day she wrote Rodger a lengthy letter of apology. He received it the moment he arrived at the castle, and it cheered him greatly, as did his reunion with his friend Geoffrey of Longdale, also there to finish his training. Countless letters flew back and forth between the two lovers in the months that followed—so many that even Meg began to complain about the high cost of paper, until Archer offered to pay for both the paper and the delivery of the letters, as his contribution toward the furtherance of his niece and nephew's happiness.

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Meanwhile, in Nottingham, Rowan and his family found temporary shelter with relatives while the wreckage of their house was cleared away and a new house began to take shape. Though they received some assistance through a fund that was set up for the benefit of the several families and individuals who suffered loss in the Nottingham fire, a large donation came from Locksley.

Rowan was aware that Robin had given part of this donation. What he was not aware of, and never did know, was that the greater part of the monies to rebuild his house and life had come from Sir Guy. Guy swore Robin to silence on the matter. Robin wanted Guy to take credit where it was due, and argued with him to that effect, but Guy would have none of it.

Although Rowan never knew that he had Sir Guy to thank for more than the saving of his son's life, Gisborne's courageous act of rushing into a burning house to rescue the very same young man who had badly beaten his son was no secret. The story was the talk of Nottingham for many weeks. That Guy's son should also have acted to save Peter was almost too much to believe for many. Robin and Allan simply had to tease Guy about it.

"Getting soft-hearted in your old age, Gisborne?" joked Robin one evening.

"Oh, so I'm soft now, am I, Hood? Let me remind you of something!" came the reply, and before Robin could duck out of the way, Guy cuffed him hard across the head and sent him sprawling. He raised his hand to Allan while Allan was still opening his mouth to echo Robin's words, but Allan had no intention of letting Guy's fist connect with any part of him. He swerved just in time to avoid a similar buffeting, for he had vivid memories of that man's brutal hands, which the passing of more than twenty years had not diminished.

After his broken legs were reset, Peter spent several intensely painful days at the castle infirmary before he was brought to his family's temporary home to continue his recovery. He had youth and health on his side, but it was still many weeks before he was able to walk without assistance.

Neither Guy nor Rodger went to see him, though Peter secretly feared they might. Robin dropped by several times to check on him, and was pleased to report that Peter was polite and respectful toward him.

It might be too much to hope of weak and wayward mortal flesh that young Peter would instantly transform into a model citizen after his near-death experience. But it was a fact that, in time, Peter did settle down, stopped most of his mischief-making, and became a useful son to his father. He learned his father's trade, and gained a reputation as a skilled carpenter much sought after throughout Nottingham.

It was also a fact that he never troubled the Gisborne men again, in any way. In the years that followed, whenever Peter chanced to encounter Sir Guy or his son on the streets of Nottingham, he would incline his head downward rather sheepishly, and pass them without a whisper of a sneer. Guy and Rodger were only human, too, and could perhaps be forgiven for the satisfied smiles that crossed their own lips at the sight of Peter's discomfiture.

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Both Rodger and Eleanor had feared that the months of training that Rodger still had to complete would drag on tediously, but both of them were so busy that time flew by quickly in a whirlwind of preparations. Rodger came back to Locksley as often as he could. If it meant riding all day and night to see Eleanor for only a few hours before he had to ride back again, well, so be it. He didn't mind. His beloved Eleanor was there at journey's end to fuss over his latest injuries received on the practice grounds, argue delightfully with him on the slightest provocation, and, in between arguments, shower him with kisses until he hardly knew what end was up.

Though their wedding date had not been set, and could not be until Rodger was knighted, Eleanor found there was much to be done. She went with her mother and Meg to Meg's father's shop to choose material for her wedding gown, and later to have the gown fitted as it was made up by the skilled tailors in his employment. Wallace and Jane then insisted upon giving the blue silk gown as a gift to their grandson's bride-to-be.

Edith gushed over the new gown when it was delivered to the manor.

"Oh, milady! That's the prettiest gown I've ever seen! Just the right shade of blue for you! And you know, blue is the colour of purity."

Eleanor made a face behind Edith's back. Purity. It was expected of her as a bride. But her private musings about Rodger were far from pure these days.

_I can't believe that I ever cared for Robert. He would never have been faithful to me. At least Rodger and I will belong only to each other. He's been with no one else because he's been waiting for me, and only me, his whole life. And I've been waiting for him my whole life, too, I just didn't know it._

She remembered the last kiss she'd given Rodger, three days ago, out in the dim light of the stable early in the morning before he'd set off once again for London, and she smiled.

_I wonder if Rodger would think me very pure and virginal after that kiss…._

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Finally, after many months spent in the practice yards, slogging through rain and snow and summer heat, Rodger completed his training. His family, along with Eleanor and Robin and Marian, and numerous guests, traveled to London as the day for the knighting ceremony approached. They gathered in the enormous hall in the castle with hundreds of others in support of the small group of select young nobles who were to be elevated to knighthood.

Rodger, dressed in uncharacteristic white, stood with Geoffrey and the other squires before King Henry III. In the solemn silence, his deep voice echoing off the stones, Rodger spoke his knight's oath. Then he knelt before the king. As his shoulders were tapped with the flat of a blade, and he was proclaimed "Sir Rodger of Gisborne", Guy's eyes filled with tears. Meg held tight to her husband's arm. Marian stood on the other side of Guy, and when she saw his tears, she reached over to take his hand in hers.

"Your father and mother would be proud," she whispered to him.

"Yes." Guy gently caressed her fingers before releasing her hand.

Loud applause broke out after the ceremony. Rodger and the other new knights were taken away by the older knights to be prepared for the tournament. Archer and Sir Stephen took charge of Rodger. They dressed him in armour, after which Guy presented him with his own sword. They then paraded him about to the further cheers of the crowd, before all of them joined together on the field so that the new knights could display their martial skills. Rodger distinguished himself that afternoon, and at the feasting table that night, he and Eleanor were finally given permission to set a date for their wedding. This was duly announced before the other guests, and the two were also honoured to receive the king's blessing on their upcoming union.

Two blissfully happy young people rode home together to Locksley in the company of their family and friends, and one month and ten days later, as was the custom, they were married.

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The wedding took place in Locksley village. Guy had protested at first when he learned that his son and Eleanor did not want to be married in the church in Nottingham, but Rodger and Eleanor had firm ideas about their wedding day.

"We're not a circus show," said Eleanor. "We don't want the whole of Nottingham coming out to gawk at us. We just want a nice, small wedding with our family and friends, right here in Locksley."

"And we want Tuck to perform the ceremony," added Rodger.

The inclusion of Tuck pacified Guy, and he gave his fatherly consent at last to the proceedings.

On a fine mid-summer day, Sir Rodger of Gisborne and Lady Eleanor of Locksley were married. Eleanor was arrayed in the blue silk gown, with a coronet of flowers in her hair that fell loosely over her shoulders—the elaborate hairstyle that Edith had campaigned for having been dispensed with—and Rodger was, as usual, dressed in black. All his mother's arguments on the subject could not persuade him to dress in a more festive colour. He had made the small concession of having his black silk shirt embroidered with gold thread. '_The Gisborne colours,'_ Guy had said proudly. Eleanor liked her bridegroom's head-to-toe black attire. '_Black suits you,'_ she'd said to Rodger, '_and thank you for not asking me to do the embroidering for you.'_

Rodger caught his breath when he saw Eleanor. She had never looked so beautiful to him. But after all the years of misunderstandings and hurt feelings, would they truly be happy together? His face was grave and anxious, his heart and mind no less so, but Eleanor had no such qualms. She took his hand as she joined him to stand before Brother Tuck, gave him a naughty grin, and winked at him. In that moment she looked so much like "little Eleanor the Brat" from their childhood days that his face broke into a huge smile, and all his fears melted away in an instant.

While their family and friends looked on, the young couple repeated their vows, kissed, and were pronounced husband and wife.

Rodger turned and whispered to Eleanor, "We've done it now, my love. No turning back. You're stuck with me."

"And you're stuck with me," she said. "Too late now to change your mind."

"I haven't any wish to change my mind, silly girl," answered Rodger. "This is the happiest moment of my life!" And he followed it up with another kiss, to the cheers of their well-wishers.

As is usual on such occasions, the feasting and merrymaking, the dancing and drinking, went on for many hours. Every gem of wisdom regarding marriage ever uttered through the ages was recalled, and every jest about wedding nights was voiced loudly by the guests. The newlyweds smiled and blushed by turns at the banter, and then, as twilight descended on Locksley, they were escorted to their new home by a rowdy mob led by Allan and Archer. The more sedate inhabitants of the village received baskets of leftover food to be taken home to their cottages.

At last, only the family was still at the manor. Guy and Robin sat down at a table under the trees after the stars came out, while their wives went inside to talk over the day's events.

"Guy," said Robin, "do you realize that this time next year we could be grandfathers?"

Guy smiled. "Yes, Robin, the thought did cross my mind."

"Grandfathers," Robin repeated. "At one time I never thought I'd live long enough to be a father, much less a grandfather. It makes me feel old. Does it make you feel old?"

"Maybe," said Guy. "But there's one big difference between you and me, Robin."

"What's that?"

"You'll look like a grandfather, I won't."

"Oh, ha, ha, Guy. You're so very funny."

"Thank you."

"You should be King Henry's court jester. You know, I think I liked you better before you had a sense of humour."

"I've always had a sense of humour, Robin."

"Have you?"

"How else could I have stayed friends with you for so long without killing you?"

"There's a cheerful thought. I take back what I said about you having a sense of humour. And you look just as much like a grandfather as I do, no matter what Meg tells you. Don't deceive yourself."

Guy chuckled. "Here, I've saved the good stuff for us," he said. He reached for a new bottle, opened it, and poured wine into a goblet for each of them. Robin took the glass from him and held it up.

"To our children," he said. "May they live a long and happy life together."

"To our children," repeated Guy as he touched his goblet to Robin's. "And to us, Robin."

"To us. Since we can't escape each other, let's drink to the joining of our families instead," said Robin with a smile. "Friends forever, Gisborne and Locksley."

"Yes, to Gisborne and Locksley," said Guy, "and may God help us."

They drained their goblets, and poured another.

Not far away, with the moon shining in their bedroom window, Rodger and Eleanor lay in each other's arms. A little more than a year later, they would indeed make grandfathers of Robin and Guy, and their legacy would live on.

**The End**

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><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong> I hope you have enjoyed this little tale. It's been quite an eventful journey imagining and writing it for the last two and a half years. But, no, I'm not going to write about Rodger and Eleanor's children, or Guy and Robin as grandfathers! (tempting though it is) This is as far as the story goes. I'll be moving on to new projects after this.

As always, thank you, dear readers, for your interest, encouragement, and reviews. It means so much to me! Best wishes to all of you! Manxcatmom


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